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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/divinecomedyofdadant 
 
THE 
 
 DIVINE COMEDY 
 
 DANTE ALIGHIERI 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 I follow here the footing of thy feete 
 
 That with thy meaning so I may the rather meete 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 TICK NOR AND FIELDS 
 
 1867 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
 Cambridge. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OF VOL. II. 
 
 PURGATORIO. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Shores of Purgatory. — Cato of Utica i 
 
 CANTO II. 
 The Celestial Pilot. — Casella 7 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 The Foot of the Mountain. — Those who have died in Contumacy of Holy 
 Church. — Manfredi 13 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Farther Ascent of the Mountain. — The Negligent, who postponed Repentance 
 till the last Hour. — Belacqua 20 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 Those who died by Violence, but repentant. — Buonconte di Montefeltro. — 
 La Pia 26 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 Sordello 3 2 
 
 CANTO VII. 
 The Valley of the Princes 39 
 
IV 
 
 Contents 
 
 CANTO VIII. 
 
 The Guardian Angels and the Serpent. — Nino di Gallura. — Currado Ma- 
 
 laspina 45 
 
 CANTO IX. 
 Dante's Dream of the Eagle. — The Gate of Purgatory 51 
 
 CANTO X. 
 
 The First Circle. — The Proud. — The Sculptures on the Wall ... 58 
 
 CANTO XI. 
 
 Omberto di Santafiore. — Oderisi d' Agobbio. — Provenzan Salvani . . .64 
 
 CANTO XII. 
 
 The Sculptures on the Pavement. — Ascent to the Second Circle . . .71 
 
 CANTO XIII. 
 The Second Circle. — The Envious. — Sapia of Siena 77 
 
 CANTO XIV. 
 Guido del Duca and Renier da Calboli 84 
 
 CANTO XV. 
 The Third Circle. — The Irascible 91 
 
 CANTO XVI. 
 Marco Lombardo 98 
 
 CANTO XVII. 
 Dante's Dream of Anger. — The Fourth Circle. — The Slothful . . .105 
 
Contents v 
 
 CANTO XVIII. 
 Virgil's Discourse of Love. — The Abbot of San Zeno 1 1 1 
 
 CANTO XIX. 
 
 Dante's Dream of the Siren. — The Fifth Circle. — The Avaricious and Prod- 
 igal. — Pope Adrian V 118 
 
 CANTO XX. 
 Hugh Capet. — The Earthquake 125 
 
 CANTO XXI. 
 The Poet Statius 132 
 
 CANTO XXII. 
 The Sixth Circle. — The Gluttonous. — The Mystic Tree . . . .138 
 
 CANTO XXIII. 
 Forese 145 
 
 CANTO XXIV. 
 Buonagiunta da Lucca. — Pope Martin IV., and others 151 
 
 CANTO XXV. 
 
 Discourse of Statius on Generation. — The Seventh Circle. — The Wanton . 158 
 
 CANTO XXVI. 
 Guido Guinicelli and Arnaldo Daniello 164 
 
 CANTO XXVII. 
 
 Dante's Sleep upon the Stairway, and his Dream of Leah. — Arrival at the 
 
 Terrestrial Paradise 171 
 
vi Contents 
 
 CANTO XXVIII. 
 The Terrestrial Paradise. — The River Lethe. — Matilda . . . .178 
 
 CANTO XXIX. 
 The Triumph of the Church 185 
 
 CANTO XXX. 
 Beatrice 192 
 
 CANTO XXXI. 
 Reproaches of Beatrice and Confession of Dante. — The Passage of Lethe . 199 
 
 CANTO XXXII. 
 The Tree of Knowledge . 206 
 
 CANTO XXXIII. 
 The River Eunoe 213 
 
 NOTES 221 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Hero as Poet 365 
 
 Dante 375 
 
 Dante and Milton 382 
 
 The Italian Pilgrim's Progress 384 
 
 Dante and Tacitus 39° 
 
 Dante's Landscapes 394 
 
 Dante's Creed 401 
 
 The Divina Commedia 4°3 
 
I ENTER, and I see thee in the gloom 
 Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine ! 
 And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. 
 The air is filled with some unknown perfume ; 
 
 The congregation of the dead make room 
 
 For thee to pass ; the votive tapers shine ; 
 Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine 
 The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. 
 
 From the confessionals I hear arise 
 Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, 
 And lamentations from the crypts below ; 
 
 And then a voice celestial that begins 
 
 With the pathetic words, "Although your sins 
 As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow." 
 
~\\ TTTH snow-white veil and garments as of flame, 
 She stands before thee, who so long ago 
 Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe 
 From which thy song and all its splendors came ; 
 
 And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name, 
 The ice about thy heart melts as the snow 
 On mountain heights, and in swift overflow 
 Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame. 
 
 Thou makest full confession ; and a gleam, 
 As of the dawn on some dark forest cast, 
 Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase ; 
 
 Lethe and Eunoe — the remembered dream 
 And the forgotten sorrow — bring at last 
 That perfect pardon which is perfect peace. 
 
PURGATORIO 
 
PURGATORIO. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 PO run o'er better waters hoists its sail 
 The little vessel of my genius now, 
 That leaves behind itself a sea so cruel ; 
 
 And of that second kingdom will I sing 
 
 Wherein the human spirit doth purge itself, 5 
 
 And to ascend to heaven becometh worthy. 
 
 But let dead Poesy here rise again, 
 
 O holy Muses, since that I am yours, 
 And here Calliope somewhat ascend, 
 
 My song accompanying with that sound, 10 
 
 Of which the miserable magpies felt 
 The blow so great, that they despaired of pardon. 
 
 Sweet color of the oriental sapphire, 
 
 That was upgathered in the cloudless aspect 
 
 Of the pure air, as far as the first circle, 15 
 
2 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Unto mine eyes did recommence delight 
 
 Soon as I issued forth from the dead air, 
 
 Which had with sadness filled mine eyes and breast. 
 
 The beauteous planet, that to love incites, 
 
 Was making all the orient to laugh, *o 
 
 Veiling the Fishes that were in her escort. 
 
 To the right hand I turned, and fixed my mind 
 Upon the other pole, and saw four stars 
 Ne'er seen before save by the primal people. 
 
 Rejoicing in their flamelets seemed the heaven. 25 
 
 O thou septentrional and widowed site, 
 Because thou art deprived of seeing these ! 
 
 When from regarding them I had withdrawn, 
 Turning a little to the other pole, 
 There where the Wain had disappeared already, 3° 
 
 I saw beside me an old man alone, 
 
 Worthy of so much reverence in his look, 
 That more owes not to father any son. 
 
 A long beard and with white hair intermingled 
 
 He wore, in semblance like unto the tresses, 3s 
 
 Of which a double list fell on his breast. 
 
 The rays of the four consecrated stars 
 
 Did so adorn his countenance with light, 
 That him I saw as were the sun before him. 
 
Ptirgatorio i. 3 
 
 " Who are you ? ye who, counter the blind river, 4° 
 
 Have fled away from the eternal prison ? " 
 Moving those venerable plumes, he said : 
 
 " Who guided you ? or who has been your lamp 
 In issuing forth out of the night profound, 
 That ever black makes the infernal valley ? 45 
 
 The laws of the abyss, are they thus broken ? 
 
 Or is there changed in heaven some counsel new, 
 That being damned ye come unto my crags ? " 
 
 Then did my Leader lay his grasp upon me, 
 
 And with his words, and with his hands and signs, so 
 Reverent he made in me my knees and brow ; 
 
 Then answered him : " I came not of myself; 
 
 A Lady from Heaven descended, at whose prayers 
 I aided this one with my company. 
 
 But since it is thy will more be unfolded 55 
 
 Of our condition, how it truly is, 
 Mine cannot be that this should be denied thee. 
 
 This one has never his last evening seen, 
 But by his folly was so near to it 
 That very little time was there to turn. 60 
 
 As I have said, I unto him was sent 
 
 To rescue him, and other way was none 
 Than this to which I have myself betaken. 
 
4 The Divine Comedy 
 
 I 've shown him all the people of perdition, 
 
 And now those spirits I intend to show 6 5 
 
 Who purge themselves beneath thy guardianship. 
 
 How I have brought him would be long to tell thee. 
 Virtue descendeth from on high that aids me 
 To lead him to behold thee and to hear thee. 
 
 Now may it please thee to vouchsafe his coming ; 7° 
 
 He seeketh Liberty, which is so dear, 
 As knoweth he who life for her refuses. 
 
 Thou know'st it ; since, for her, to thee not bitter 
 Was death in Utica, where thou didst leave 
 The vesture, that will shine so, the great day. 75 
 
 By us the eternal edicts are not broken ; 
 
 Since this one lives, and Minos binds not me; 
 But of that circle I, where are the chaste 
 
 Eyes of thy Marcia, who in looks still prays thee, 
 
 holy breast, to hold her as thine own ; s° 
 For her love, then, incline thyself to us. 
 
 Permit us through thy sevenfold realm to go ; 
 
 1 will take back this grace from thee to her, 
 If to be mentioned there below thou deignest." 
 
 " Marcia so pleasing was unto mine eyes s 5 
 
 While I was on the other side," then said he, 
 "That every grace she wished of me I granted; 
 
Purgatorio i. 5 
 
 Now that she dwells beyond the evil river, 
 She can no longer move me, by that law 
 Which, when I issued forth from there, was made. 90 
 
 But if a Lady of Heaven do move and rule thee, 
 As thou dost say, no flattery is needful ; 
 Let it suffice thee that for her thou ask me. 
 
 Go, then, and see thou gird this one about 
 
 With a smooth rush, and that thou wash his face, 95 
 So that thou cleanse away all stain therefrom, 
 
 For 't were not fitting that the eye o'ercast 
 By any mist should go before the first 
 Angel, who is of those of Paradise. 
 
 This little island round about its base 100 
 
 Below there, yonder, where the billow beats it, 
 Doth rushes bear upon its washy ooze ; 
 
 No other plant that putteth forth the leaf, 
 
 Or that doth indurate, can there have life, 
 
 Because it yieldeth not unto the shocks. 105 
 
 Thereafter be not this way your return ; 
 
 The sun, which now is rising, will direct you 
 To take the mount by easier ascent." 
 
 With this he vanished ; and I raised me up 
 
 Without a word, and wholly drew myself "o 
 
 Unto my Guide, and turned mine eyes to him. 
 
6 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And he began : " Son, follow thou my steps ; 
 
 Let us turn back, for on this side declines 
 
 The plain unto its lower boundaries." 
 The dawn was vanquishing the matin hour "5 
 
 Which fled before it, so that from afar 
 
 I recognized the trembling of the sea. 
 Along the solitary plain we went 
 
 As one who unto the lost road returns, 
 
 And till he finds it seems to go in vain. "° 
 
 As soon as we were come to where the dew 
 
 Fights with the sun, and, being in a part 
 
 Where shadow falls, little evaporates, 
 Both of his hands upon the grass outspread 
 
 In gentle manner did my Master place ; ^s 
 
 Whence I, who of his action was aware, 
 Extended unto him my tearful cheeks ; 
 
 There did he make in me uncovered wholly 
 
 That hue which Hell had covered up in me. 
 Then came we down upon the desert shore no 
 
 Which never yet saw navigate its waters 
 
 Any that afterward had known return. 
 There he begirt me as the other pleased ; 
 
 O marvellous! for even as he culled 
 
 The humble plant, such it sprang up again ns 
 
 Suddenly there where he uprooted it. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 A LREADY had the sun the horizon reached 
 Whose circle of meridian covers o'er 
 Jerusalem with its most lofty point, 
 
 And night that opposite to him revolves 
 
 Was issuing forth from Ganges with the Scales 5 
 
 That fall from out her hand when she exceedeth ; 
 
 So that the white and the vermilion cheeks 
 Of beautiful Aurora, where I was, 
 By too great age were changing into orange. 
 
 We still were on the border of the sea, 10 
 
 Like people who are thinking of their road, 
 Who go in heart, and with the body stay ; 
 
 And lo ! as when, upon the approach of morning, 
 Through the gross vapors Mars grows fiery red 
 Down in the West upon the ocean floor, 15 
 
 Appeared to me — may I again behold it ! — 
 A light along the sea so swiftly coming, 
 Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled ; 
 
8 The Divine Comedy 
 
 From which when I a little had withdrawn 
 
 Mine eyes, that I might question my Conductor, ™ 
 Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. 
 
 Then on each side of it appeared to me 
 
 I knew not what of white, and underneath it 
 Little by little there came forth another. 
 
 My master yet had uttered not a word 2 s 
 
 While the first whiteness into wings unfolded ; 
 But when he clearly recognized the pilot, 
 
 He cried : " Make haste, make haste to bow the knee ! 
 Behold the Angel of God ! fold thou thy hands ! 
 Henceforward shalt thou see such officers ! 30 
 
 See how he scorneth human arguments, 
 
 So that nor oar he wants, nor other sail 
 
 Than his own wings, between so distant shores. 
 
 See how he holds them pointed up to heaven, 
 
 Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, 35 
 
 That do not moult themselves like mortal hair ! " 
 
 Then as still nearer and more near us came 
 
 The Bird Divine, more radiant he appeared, 
 So that near by the eye could not endure him, 
 
 But down I cast it ; and he came to shore 40 
 
 With a small vessel, very swift and light, 
 So that the water swallowed naught thereof. 
 
Purgatorio n. 
 
 <b 
 
 Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot ; 
 Beatitude seemed written in his face, 
 And more than a hundred spirits sat within. 45 
 
 "In exitu Israel de /Egypto!" 
 
 They chanted all together in one voice, 
 With whatso in that psalm is after written. 
 
 Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, 
 
 Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, 50 
 
 And he departed swiftly as he came. 
 
 The throng which still remained there unfamiliar 
 
 Seemed with the place, all round about them gazing, 
 As one who in new matters makes essay. 
 
 On every side was darting forth the day 55 
 
 The sun, who had with his resplendent shafts 
 From the mid-heaven chased forth the Capricorn, 
 
 When the new people lifted up their faces 
 Towards us, saying to us : " If ye know, 
 Show us the way to go unto the mountain." 60 
 
 And answer made Virgilius : " Ye believe 
 
 Perchance that we have knowledge of this place, 
 But we are strangers even as yourselves. 
 
 Just now we came, a little while before you, 
 
 Another way, which was so rough and steep, 6 5 
 
 That mounting will henceforth seem sport to us." 
 
io The Divine Comedy 
 
 The souls who had, from seeing me draw breath, 
 
 Become aware that I was still alive, 
 
 Pallid in their astonishment became ; 
 And as to messenger who bears the olive 7° 
 
 The people throng to listen to the news, 
 
 And no one shows himself afraid of crowding, 
 So at the sight of me stood motionless 
 
 Those fortunate spirits, all of them, as if 
 
 Oblivious to go and make them fair. 75 
 
 One from among them saw I coming forward, 
 
 As to embrace me, with such great affection, 
 
 That it incited me to do the like. 
 
 empty shadows, save in aspect only ! 
 
 Three times behind it did I clasp my hands, 80 
 
 As oft returned with them to my own breast! 
 
 1 think with wonder I depicted me ; 
 
 Whereat the shadow smiled and backward drew ; 
 
 And I, pursuing it, pressed farther forward. 
 Gently it said that I should stay my steps ; «s 
 
 Then knew I who it was, and I entreated 
 
 That it would stop awhile to speak with me. 
 It made reply to me : " Even as I loved thee 
 
 In mortal body, so I love thee free ; 
 
 Therefore I stop ; but wherefore goest thou ? " 9° 
 
Pur gator to it. i i 
 
 & 
 
 " My own Casella ! to return once more 
 
 There where I am, I make this journey," said I ; 
 "But how from thee has so much time been taken?" 
 
 And he to me : " No outrage has been done me, 
 
 If he who takes both when and whom he pleases 95 
 Has many times denied to me this passage, 
 
 For of a righteous will his own is made. 
 
 He, sooth to say, for three months past has taken 
 Whoever wished to enter with all peace ; 
 
 Whence I, who now had turned unto that shore 100 
 
 Where salt the waters of the Tiber grow, 
 Benignantly by him have been received. 
 
 Unto that outlet now his wing is pointed, 
 Because for evermore assemble there 
 Those who tow'rds Acheron do not descend." 105 
 
 And I : "If some new law take not from thee 
 Memory or practice of the song of love, 
 Which used to quiet in me all my longings, 
 
 Thee may it please to comfort therewithal 
 
 Somewhat this soul of mine, that with its body «° 
 Hitherward coming is so much distressed." 
 
 " Love, that within my mind discourses with me," 
 Forthwith began he so melodiously, 
 The melody within me still is sounding. 
 
12 The Divine Comedy 
 
 My master, and myself, and all that people "s 
 
 Which with him were, appeared as satisfied 
 As if naught else might touch the mind of any. 
 
 We all of us were moveless and attentive 
 
 Unto his notes ; and lo ! the grave old man, 
 Exclaiming : " What is this, ye laggard spirits ? i*> 
 
 What negligence, what standing still is this ? 
 
 Run to the mountain to strip off the slough, 
 That lets not God be manifest to you." 
 
 Even as when, collecting grain or tares, 
 
 The doves, together at their pasture met, ^ 5 
 
 Quiet, nor showing their accustomed pride, 
 
 If aught appear of which they are afraid, 
 Upon a sudden leave their food alone, 
 Because they are assailed by greater care ; 
 
 So that fresh company did I behold 13° 
 
 The song relinquish, and go tow'rds the hill, 
 As one who goes, and knows not whitherward ; 
 
 Nor was our own departure less in haste. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 T NASMUCH as the instantaneous flight 
 
 Had scattered them asunder o'er the plain, 
 Turned to the mountain whither reason spurs us, 
 
 I pressed me close unto my faithful comrade, 
 
 And how without him had I kept my course ? 5 
 
 Who would have led me up along the mountain ? 
 
 He seemed to me within himself remorseful ; 
 O noble conscience, and without a stain, 
 How sharp a sting is trivial fault to thee ! 
 
 After his feet had laid aside the haste I0 
 
 Which mars the dignity of every act, 
 My mind, that hitherto had been restrained, 
 
 Let loose its faculties as if delighted, 
 
 And I my sight directed to the hill 
 
 That highest tow'rds the heaven uplifts itself. 15 
 
 The sun, that in our rear was flaming red, 
 
 Was broken in front of me into the figure 
 Which had in me the stoppage of its rays ; 
 
14 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Unto one side I turned me, with the fear 
 
 Of being left alone, when I beheld 20 
 
 Only in front of me the ground obscured. 
 
 " Why dost thou still mistrust ? " my Comforter 
 
 Began to say to me turned wholly round ; [thee ? 
 " Dost thou not think me with thee, and that I guide 
 
 5 T is evening there already where is buried 25 
 
 The body within which I cast a shadow ; 
 'T is from Brundusium ta'en, and Naples has it. 
 
 Now if in front of me no shadow fall, 
 
 Marvel not at it more than at the heavens, 
 
 Because one ray impedeth not another. 3° 
 
 To suffer torments, both of cold and heat, 
 
 Bodies like this that Power provides, which wills 
 That how it works be not unveiled to us. 
 
 Insane is he who hopeth that our reason 
 
 Can traverse the illimitable way, 35 
 
 Which the one Substance in three Persons follows ! 
 
 Mortals, remain contented at the Quia; 
 For if ye had been able to see all, 
 No need there were for Mary to give birth ; 
 
 And ye have seen desiring without fruit, 40 
 
 Those whose desire would have been quieted, 
 Which evermore is given them for a grief. 
 
Pur gator io in. 15 
 
 I speak of Aristotle and of Plato, 
 
 And many others"; — and here bowed his head, 
 And more he said not, and remained disturbed. 45 
 
 We came meanwhile unto the mountain's foot ; 
 There so precipitate we found the rock, 
 That nimble legs would there have been in vain. 
 
 'Twixt Lerici and Turbia, the most desert, 
 
 The most secluded pathway is a stair 50 
 
 Easy and open, if compared with that. 
 
 " Who knoweth now upon which hand the hill 
 
 Slopes down," my Master said, his footsteps staying, 
 " So that who goeth without wings may mount ? " 
 
 And while he held his eyes upon the ground 55 
 
 Examining the nature of the path, 
 And I was looking up around the rock, 
 
 On the left hand appeared to me a throng 
 
 Of souls, that moved their feet in our direction, 
 And did not seem to move, they came so slowly. 60 
 
 " Lift up thine eyes," I to the Master said ; 
 
 "Behold, on this side, who will give us counsel, 
 If thou of thine own self can have it not." 
 
 Then he looked at. me, and with frank expression 
 
 Replied : " Let us go there, for they come slowly, 6 5 
 And thou be steadfast in thy hope, sweet son." 
 
1 6 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Still was that people as far off from us, 
 After a thousand steps of ours I say, 
 As a good thrower with his hand would reach, 
 
 When they all crowded unto the hard masses 70 
 
 Of the high bank, and motionless stood and close, 
 As he stands still to look who goes in doubt. 
 
 " O happy dead ! O spirits elect already ! " 
 Virgilius made beginning, " by that peace 
 Which I believe is waiting for you all, 75 
 
 Tell us upon what side the mountain slopes, 
 So that the going up be possible, 
 For to lose time irks him most who most knows." 
 
 As sheep come issuing forth from out the fold 
 
 By ones and twos and threes, and the others stand 80 
 Timidly, holding down their eyes and nostrils, 
 
 And what the foremost does the others do, 
 
 Huddling themselves against her, if she stop, 
 Simple and quiet and the wherefore know not ; 
 
 So moving to approach us thereupon 85 
 
 I saw the leader of that fortunate flock, 
 Modest in face and dignified in gait. 
 
 As soon as those in the advance saw broken 
 
 The light upon the ground at my right side, 
 
 So that from me the shadow reached the rock, 90 
 
Purgatorio in. 17 
 
 They stopped, and backward drew themselves somewhat; 
 And all the others, who came after them, 
 Not knowing why nor wherefore, did the same. 
 
 " Without your asking, I confess to you 
 
 This is a human body which you see, 95 
 
 Whereby the sunshine on the ground is cleft. 
 
 Marvel ye not thereat, but be persuaded 
 
 That not without a power which comes from Heaven 
 Doth he endeavor to surmount this wall." 
 
 The Master thus ; and said those worthy people : 100 
 
 " Return ye then, and enter in before us," 
 Making a signal with the back o' the hand. 
 
 And one of them began : " Whoe'er thou art, 
 Thus going turn thine eyes, consider well 
 If e'er thou saw me in the other world." 105 
 
 I turned me tow'rds him, and looked at him closely ; 
 Blond was he, beautiful, and of noble aspect, 
 But one of his eyebrows had a blow divided. 
 
 When with humility I had disclaimed 
 
 E'er having seen him, "Now behold!" he said, «o 
 And showed me high upon his breast a wound. 
 
 Then said he with a smile : " I am Manfredi, 
 
 The grandson of the Emperess Costanza ; 
 
 , Therefore, when thou returnest, I beseech thee 
 3 
 
1 8 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Go to my daughter beautiful, the mother "5 
 
 Of Sicily's honor and of Aragon's, 
 And the truth tell her, if aught else be told. 
 
 After I had my body lacerated 
 
 By these two mortal stabs, I gave myself 
 
 Weeping to Him, who willingly doth pardon. «o 
 
 Horrible my iniquities had been ; 
 
 But Infinite Goodness hath such ample arms, 
 That it receives whatever turns to it. 
 
 Had but Cosenza's pastor, who in chase 
 
 Of me was sent by Clement at that time, i*s 
 
 In God read understandingly this page, 
 
 The bones of my dead body still would be 
 
 At the bridge-head, near unto Benevento, 
 Under the safeguard of the heavy cairn. 
 
 Now the rain bathes and moveth them the wind, 13° 
 
 Beyond the realm, almost beside the Verde, 
 Where he transported them with tapers quenched. 
 
 By malison of theirs is not so lost 
 
 Eternal Love, that it cannot return, 
 
 So long as hope has anything of green. 135 
 
 True is it, who in contumacy dies 
 
 Of Holy Church, though penitent at last, 
 Must wait upon the outside of this bank 
 
Ptcrgatorio in. 19 
 
 Thirty times told the time that he has been 
 
 In his presumption, unless such decree 140 
 
 Shorter by means of righteous prayers become. 
 
 See now if thou hast power to make me happy, 
 By making known unto my good Costanza 
 How thou hast seen me, and this ban beside, 
 
 For those on earth can much advance us here." 145 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 V^HENEVER by delight or else by pain, 
 
 That seizes any faculty of ours, 
 
 Wholly to that the soul collects itself, 
 It seemeth that no other power it heeds ; 
 
 And this against that error is which thinks s 
 
 One soul above another kindles in us. 
 And hence, whenever aught is heard or seen 
 
 Which keeps the soul intently bent upon it, 
 
 Time passes on, and we perceive it not, 
 Because one faculty is that which listens, i° 
 
 And other that which the soul keeps entire ; 
 
 This is as if in bonds, and that is free. 
 Of this I had experience positive 
 
 In hearing and in gazing at that spirit ; 
 
 For fifty full degrees uprisen was 15 
 
 The sun, and I had not perceived it, when 
 
 We came to where those souls with one accord 
 
 Cried out unto us : "■ Here is what you ask." 
 
Purgatorio iv. 21 
 
 6 
 
 A greater opening ofttimes hedges up 
 
 With but a little forkful of his thorns *o 
 
 The villager, what time the grape imbrowns, 
 
 Than was the passage-way through which ascended 
 Only my Leader and myself behind him, 
 After that company departed from us. 
 
 One climbs Sanleo and descends in Noli, 25 
 
 And mounts the summit of Bismantova, 
 With feet alone ; but here one needs must fly ; 
 
 With the swift pinions and the plumes I say 
 Of great desire, conducted after him 
 Who gave me hope, and made a light for me. 30 
 
 We mounted upward through the rifted rock, 
 
 And on each side the border pressed upon us, 
 And feet and hands the ground beneath required. 
 
 When we were come upon the upper rim 
 
 Of the high bank, out on the open slope, 3s 
 
 " My Master," said I, " what way shall we take ? " 
 
 And he to me : " No step of thine descend ; 
 
 Still up the mount behind me win thy way, 
 Till some sage escort shall appear to us." 
 
 The summit was so high it vanquished sight, 40 
 
 And the hillside precipitous far more 
 Than line from middle quadrant to the centre. 
 
22 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Spent with fatigue was I, when I began : 
 
 " O my sweet Father ! turn thee and behold 
 
 How I remain alone, unless thou stay!" 45 
 
 " O son," he said, " up yonder drag thyself," 
 
 Pointing me to a terrace somewhat higher, 
 Which on that side encircles all the hill. 
 
 These words of his so spurred me on, that I 
 
 Strained every nerve, behind him scrambling up, s° 
 Until the circle was beneath my feet. 
 
 Thereon ourselves we seated both of us 
 
 Turned to the East, from which we had ascended, 
 For all men are delighted to look back. 
 
 To the low shores mine eyes I first directed, 55 
 
 Then to the sun uplifted them, and wondered 
 That on the left hand we were smitten by it. 
 
 The Poet well perceived that I was wholly 
 Bewildered at the chariot of the light, 
 Where 'twixt us and the Aquilon it entered. 60 
 
 Whereon he said to me : " If Castor and Pollux 
 Were in the company of yonder mirror, 
 That up and down conducteth with its light, 
 
 Thou wouldst behold the zodiac's jagged wheel 
 
 Revolving still more near unto the Bears, 65 
 
 Unless it swerved aside from its old track. 
 
Pur gator io iv. 23 
 
 How that may be wouldst thou have power to think, 
 Collected in thyself, imagine Zion 
 Together with this mount on earth to stand, 
 
 So that they both one sole horizon have, 70 
 
 And hemispheres diverse ; whereby the road 
 Which Phaeton, alas ! knew not to drive, 
 
 Thou 'It see how of necessity must pass 
 
 This on one side, when that upon the other, 
 
 If thine intelligence right clearly heed." 75 
 
 " Truly, my Master," said I, " never yet 
 Saw I so clearly as I now discern, 
 There where my wit appeared incompetent, 
 
 That the mid-circle of supernal motion, 
 
 Which in some art is the Equator called, »© 
 
 And aye remains between the Sun and Winter, 
 
 For reason which thou sayest, departeth hence 
 
 Tow'rds the Septentrion, what time the Hebrews 
 Beheld it tow'rds the region of the heat. 
 
 But, if it pleaseth thee, I fain would learn 85 
 
 How far we have to go ; for the hill rises 
 Higher than eyes of mine have power to rise. 
 
 And he to me : " This mount is such, that ever 
 At the beginning down below 't is tiresome, 
 And aye the more one climbs, the less it hurts. 9° 
 
24 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Therefore, when it shall seem so pleasant to thee, 
 That going up shall be to thee as easy 
 As going down the current in a boat, 
 
 Then at this pathway's ending thou wilt be ; 
 
 There to repose thy panting breath expect ; 95 
 
 No more I answer; and this I know for true." 
 
 And as he finished uttering these words, 
 
 A voice close by us sounded : " Peradventure 
 Thou wilt have need of sitting down ere that." 
 
 At sound thereof each one of us turned round, 100 
 
 And saw upon the left hand a great rock, 
 Which neither I nor he before had noticed. 
 
 Thither we drew ; and there were persons there 
 Who in the shadow stood behind the rock, 
 As one through indolence is wont to stand. 105 
 
 And one of them, who seemed to me fatigued, 
 
 Was sitting down, and both his knees embraced, 
 Holding his face low down between them bowed. 
 
 " O my sweet Lord," I said, " do turn thine eye 
 
 On him who shows himself more negligent no 
 
 Than even if Sloth herself his sister were." 
 
 Then he turned round to us, and he gave heed, 
 Just lifting up his eyes above his thigh, 
 And said : " Now go thou up, for thou art valiant." 
 
Pur gator io iv. 25 
 
 Then knew I who he was; and the distress, "s 
 
 That still a little did my breathing quicken, 
 My going to him hindered not ; and after 
 
 I came to him he hardly raised his head, 
 
 Saying : " Hast thou seen clearly how the sun 
 
 O'er thy left shoulder drives his chariot?" «° 
 
 His sluggish attitude and his curt words 
 A little unto laughter moved my lips; 
 Then I began : " Belacqua, I grieve not 
 
 For thee henceforth ; but tell me, wherefore seated 
 
 In this place art thou ? Waitest thou an escort ? 125 
 Or has thy usual habit seized upon thee?" 
 
 And he : " O brother, what 's the use of climbing ? 
 Since to my torment would not let me go 
 The Angel of God, who sitteth at the gate. 
 
 First heaven must needs so long revolve me round 130 
 
 Outside thereof, as in my life it did, 
 Since the good sighs I to the end postponed, 
 
 Unless, e'er that, some prayer may bring me aid 
 Which rises from a heart that lives in grace ; 
 What profit others that in heaven are heard not?" 135 
 
 Meanwhile the Poet was before me mounting, 
 
 And saying : " Come now ; see the sun has touched 
 Meridian, and from the shore the night 
 
 Covers already with her foot Morocco?" 
 
CANTO V. 
 
 HAD already from those shades departed, 
 And followed in the footsteps of my Guide, 
 When from behind, pointing his finger at me, 
 
 One shouted : "See, it seems as if shone not 
 
 The sunshine on the left of him below, 5 
 
 And like one living seems he to conduct him ! " 
 
 Mine eyes I turned at utterance of these words, 
 And saw them watching with astonishment 
 But me, but me, and the light which was broken ! 
 
 " Why doth thy mind so occupy itself," 10 
 
 The Master said, " that thou thy pace dost slacken ? 
 What matters it to thee what here is whispered ? 
 
 Come after me, and let the people talk ; 
 
 Stand like a steadfast tower, that never wags 
 
 Its top for all the blowing of the winds ; 15 
 
 For evermore the man in whom is springing 
 
 Thought upon thought, removes from him the mark, 
 Because the force of one the other weakens." 
 
Purgatorio v. 27 
 
 What could I say in answer but " I come"? 
 
 I said it somewhat with that color tinged 20 
 
 Which makes a man of pardon sometimes worthy. 
 
 Meanwhile along the mountain-side across 
 Came people in advance of us a little, 
 Singing the Miserere verse by verse. 
 
 When they became aware I gave no place 25 
 
 For passage of the sunshine through my body, 
 They changed their song into a long, hoarse " Oh ! " 
 
 And two of them, in form of messengers, 
 
 Ran forth to meet us, and demanded of us, 
 
 "Of your condition make us cognizant.'' 30 
 
 And said my Master : " Ye can go your way 
 
 And carry back again to those who sent you, 
 That this one's body is of very flesh. 
 
 If they stood still because they saw his shadow, 
 
 As I suppose, enough is answered them ; 3s 
 
 Him let them honor, it may profit them." 
 
 Vapors enkindled saw I ne'er so swiftly 
 
 At early nightfall cleave the air serene, 
 Nor, at the set of sun, the clouds of August, 
 
 But upward they returned in briefer time, 40 
 
 And, on arriving, with the others wheeled 
 Tow'rds us, like troops that run without a rein. 
 
28 The Divine Comedy 
 
 " This folk that presses unto us is great, 
 
 And cometh to implore thee," said the Poet ; 
 
 " So still go onward, and in going listen." 45 
 
 " O soul that goest to beatitude 
 
 With the same members wherewith thou wast born," 
 Shouting they came, " a little stay thy steps, 
 
 Look, if thou e'er hast any of us seen, 
 
 So that o'er yonder thou bear news of him; s° 
 
 Ah, why dost thou go on ? Ah, why not stay ? 
 
 Long since we all were slain by violence, 
 And sinners even to the latest hour ; 
 Then did a light from heaven admonish us, 
 
 So that, both penitent and pardoning, forth 55 
 
 From life we issued reconciled to God, 
 Who with desire to see Him stirs our hearts." 
 
 And I : "Although I gaze into your faces, 
 
 No one I recognize ; but if may please you 
 
 Aught I have power to do, ye well-born spirits, 60 
 
 Speak ye, and I will do it, by that peace 
 
 Which, following the feet of such a Guide, 
 
 From world to world makes itself sought by me." 
 
 And one began : " Each one has confidence 
 
 In thy good offices without an oath, 65 
 
 Unless the I cannot cut off the I will ; 
 
Purgatorio v. 29 
 
 Whence I, who speak alone before the others, 
 Pray thee, if ever thou dost see the land 
 That 'twixt Romagna lies and that of Charles, 
 
 Thou be so courteous to me of thy prayers 70 
 
 In Fano, that they pray for me devoutly, 
 That I may purge away my grave offences. 
 
 From thence was I ; but the deep wounds, through which 
 Issued the blood wherein I had my seat, 
 Were dealt me in bosom of the Antenori, 75 
 
 There where I thought to be the most secure ; 
 'T was he of Este had it done, who held me 
 In hatred far beyond what justice willed. 
 
 But if towards the Mira I had fled, 
 
 When I was overtaken at Oriaco, so 
 
 I still should be o'er yonder where men breathe. 
 
 I ran to the lagoon, and reeds and mire 
 
 Did so entangle me I fell, and saw there 
 
 A lake made from my veins upon the ground." 
 
 Then said another: "Ah, be that desire 85 
 
 Fulfilled that draws thee to the lofty mountain, 
 As thou with pious pity aidest mine. 
 
 I was of Montefeltro, and am Buonconte; 
 Giovanna, nor none other cares for me ; 
 Hence among these I go with downcast front." 9° 
 
3<3 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And I to him : " What violence or what chance 
 Led thee astray so far from Campaldino, 
 That never has thy sepulture been known?" 
 
 " Oh," he replied, " at Casentino's foot 
 
 A river crosses named Archiano, born 95 
 
 Above the Hermitage in Apennine. 
 
 There where the name thereof becometh void 
 
 Did I arrive, pierced through and through the throat, 
 Fleeing on foot, and bloodying the plain ; 
 
 There my sight lost I, and my utterance 100 
 
 Ceased in the name of Mary, and thereat 
 I fell, and tenantless my flesh remained. 
 
 Truth will I speak, repeat it to the living ; 
 God's Angel took me up, and he of hell 
 Shouted : ' O thou from heaven, why dost thou rob me ? 
 
 Thou bearest away the eternal part of him, 106 
 
 For one poor little tear, that takes him from me ; 
 But with the rest I '11 deal in other fashion ! ' 
 
 Well knowest thou how in the air is gathered 
 
 That humid vapor which to water turns, "© 
 
 Soon as it rises where the cold doth grasp it. 
 
 He joined that evil will, which aye seeks evil, 
 To intellect, and moved the mist and wind 
 By means of power, which his own nature gave; 
 
Pttr gator io v. 3 1 
 
 Thereafter, when the day was spent, the valley 115 
 
 From Pratomagno to the great yoke covered 
 With fog, and made the heaven above intent, 
 
 So that the pregnant air to water changed ; 
 
 Down fell the rain, and to the gullies came 
 Whate'er of it earth tolerated not ; 120 
 
 And as it mingled with the mighty torrents, 
 Towards the royal river with such speed 
 It headlong rushed, that nothing held it back. 
 
 My frozen body near unto its outlet 
 
 The robust Archian found, and into Arno 125 
 
 Thrust it, and loosened from my breast the cross 
 
 I made of me, when agony o'ercame me; 
 
 It rolled me on the banks and on the bottom ; 
 Then with its booty covered and begirt me." 
 
 "Ah, when thou hast returned unto the world, 13° 
 
 And rested thee from thy long journeying," 
 After the second followed the third spirit, 
 
 " Do thou remember me who am the Pia ; 
 Siena made me, unmade me Maremma ; 
 He knoweth it, who had encircled first, 135 
 
 Espousing me, my finger with his gem." 
 
CANTO VI. 
 
 \ / \/ r HENE'ER is broken up the game of Zara, 
 He who has lost remains behind despondent, 
 The throws repeating, and in sadness learns ; 
 
 The people with the other all depart ; 
 
 One goes in front, and one behind doth pluck him, 5 
 And at his side one brings himself to mind ; 
 
 He pauses not, and this and that one hears ; 
 
 They crowd no more to whom his hand he stretches, 
 And from the throng he thus defends himself. 
 
 Even such was I in that dense multitude, 1° 
 
 Turning to them this way and that my face, 
 And, promising, I freed myself therefrom. 
 
 There was the Aretine, who from the arms 
 
 Untamed of Ghin di Tacco had his death, 
 
 And he who fleeing from pursuit was drowned. '5 
 
 There was imploring with his hands outstretched 
 Frederick Novello, and that one of Pisa 
 Who made the good Marzucco seem so strong. 
 
Pur gator io vi. 3 3 
 
 I saw Count Orso ; and the soul divided 
 
 By hatred and by envy from its body, *° 
 
 As it declared, and not for crime committed, 
 
 Pierre de la Brosse I say ; and here provide 
 While still on earth the Lady of Brabant, 
 So that for this she be of no worse flock ! 
 
 As soon as I was free from all those shades *s 
 
 Who only prayed that some one else may pray, 
 So as to hasten their becoming holy, 
 
 Began I : "It appears that thou deniest, 
 
 O light of mine, expressly in some text, 
 
 That orison can bend decree of Heaven; 30 
 
 And ne'ertheless these people pray for 'this. 
 
 Might then their expectation bootless be ? 
 Or is to me thy saying not quite clear?" 
 
 And he to me : " My writing is explicit, 
 
 And not fallacious is the hope of these, 35 
 
 If with sane intellect 't is well regarded ; 
 
 For top of judgment doth not vail itself, 
 Because the fire of love fulfils at once 
 What he must satisfy who here installs him. 
 
 And there, where I affirmed that proposition, 40 
 
 Defect was not amended by a prayer, 
 Because the prayer from God was separate. 
 5 
 
34 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Verily, in so deep a questioning 
 
 Do not decide, unless she tell it thee, 
 
 Who light 'twixt truth and intellect shall be. 45 
 
 I know not if thou understand; I speak 
 
 Of Beatrice ; her shalt thou see above, 
 
 Smiling and happy, on this mountain's top." 
 And I : "Good Leader, let us make more haste, 
 
 For I no longer tire me as before ; 50 
 
 And see, e'en now the hill a shadow casts." 
 " We will go forward with this day," he answered, 
 
 " As far as now is possible for us ; 
 
 But otherwise the fact is than thou thinkest. 
 Ere thou art up there, thou shalt see return 55 
 
 Him, who now hides himself behind the hill, 
 
 So that thou dost not interrupt his rays. 
 But yonder there behold ! a soul that stationed 
 
 All, all alone is looking hitherward ; 
 
 It will point out to us the quickest way." 60 
 
 We came up unto it ; O Lombard soul, 
 
 How lofty and disdainful thou didst bear thee, 
 
 And grand and slow in moving of thine eyes ! 
 Nothing whatever did it say to us, 
 
 But let us go our way, eying us only 65 
 
 After the manner of a couchant lion ; 
 
Purgatorio vi. 3 5 
 
 Still near to it Virgilius drew, entreating 
 
 That it would point us out the best ascent ; 
 And it replied not unto his demand, 
 But of our native land and of our life 7° 
 
 It questioned us ; and the sweet Guide began : 
 "Mantua," — and the shade, all in itself recluse, 
 Rose tow'rds him from the place where first it was, 
 Saying : " O Mantuan, I am Sordello 
 Of thine own land ! " and one embraced the other. 75 
 Ah ! servile Italy, grief's hostelry ! 
 
 A ship without a pilot in great tempest ! 
 No Lady thou of Provinces, but brothel ! 
 That noble soul was so impatient, only 
 
 At the sweet sound of his own native land, s° 
 
 To make its citizen glad welcome there ; 
 And now within thee are not without war 
 
 Thy living ones, and one doth gnaw the other 
 Of those whom one wall and one fosse shut in ! 
 Search, wretched one, all round about the shores 85 
 
 Thy seaboard, and then look within thy bosom, 
 If any part of thee enjoyeth peace ! 
 What boots it, that for thee Justinian 
 
 The bridle mend, if empty be the saddle ? 
 Withouten this the shame would be the less. 9° 
 
2,6 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Ah ! people, thou that oughtest to be devout, 
 And to let Cassar sit upon the saddle, 
 If well thou hearest what God teacheth thee, 
 Behold how fell this wild beast has become, 
 
 Being no longer by the spur corrected, 95 
 
 Since thou hast laid thy hand upon the bridle. 
 O German Albert ! who abandonest 
 
 Her that has grown recalcitrant and savage, 
 And oughtest to bestride her saddle-bow, 
 May a just judgment from the stars down fall 100 
 
 Upon thy blood, and be it new and open, 
 That thy successor may have fear thereof; 
 Because thy father and thyself have suffered, 
 
 By greed of those transalpine lands distrained, 
 The garden of the empire to be waste. 105 
 
 Come and behold Montecchi and Cappelletti, 
 Monaldi and Fillippeschi, careless man ! 
 Those sad already, and these doubt-depressed ! 
 Come, cruel one ! come and behold the oppression 
 
 Of thy nobility, and cure their wounds, no 
 
 And thou shalt see how safe is Santafiore ! 
 Come and behold thy Rome, that is lamenting, 
 Widowed, alone, and day and night exclaims, 
 " My Cassar, why hast thou forsaken me ? " 
 
Purgatorio vi. 3 7 
 
 Come and behold how loving are the people; us 
 
 And if for us no pity moveth thee, 
 
 Come and be made ashamed of thy renown ! 
 And if it lawful be, O Jove Supreme! 
 
 Who upon earth for us wast crucified, 
 
 Are thy just eyes averted otherwhere ? 120 
 
 Or preparation is 't, that, in the abyss 
 
 Of thine own counsel, for some good thou makest 
 
 From our perception utterly cut off? 
 For all the towns of Italy are full 
 
 Of tyrants, and becometh a Marcellus 125 
 
 Each peasant churl who plays the partisan ! 
 My Florence ! well mayst thou contented be 
 
 With this digression, which concerns thee not, 
 
 Thanks to thy people who such forethought take ! 
 Many at heart have justice, but shoot slowly, 130 
 
 That unadvised they come not to the bow, 
 
 But on their very lips thy people have it ! 
 Many refuse to bear the common burden; 
 
 But thy solicitous people answereth 
 
 Without being asked, and crieth : " I submit." 135 
 Now be thou joyful, for thou hast good reason ; 
 
 Thou affluent, thou in peace, thou full of wisdom ! 
 
 If I speak true, the event conceals it not. 
 
38 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Athens and Lacedsmon, they who made 
 
 The ancient laws, and were so civilized, 14° 
 
 Made towards living well a little sign 
 Compared with thee, who makest such fine-spun 
 
 Provisions, that to middle of November 
 
 Reaches not what thou in October spinnest. 
 How oft, within the time of thy remembrance, 145 
 
 Laws, money, offices, and usages 
 
 Hast thou remodelled, and renewed thy members? 
 And if thou mind thee well, and see the light, 
 
 Thou shalt behold thyself like a sick woman, 
 
 Who cannot find repose up6n her down, 15° 
 
 But by her tossing wardeth off her pain. 
 
CANTO VII. 
 
 A FTER the gracious and glad salutations 
 Had three and four times been reiterated, 
 Sordello backward drew and said, "Who are you?" 
 
 " Or ever to this mountain were directed 
 
 The souls deserving to ascend to God, 5 
 
 My bones were buried by Octavian. 
 
 I am Virgilius ; and for no crime else 
 
 Did I lose heaven, than for not having faith " ; 
 In this wise then my Leader made reply. 
 
 As one who suddenly before him sees 10 
 
 Something whereat he marvels, who believes 
 And yet does not, saying, " It is ! it is not ! " 
 
 So he appeared; and then bowed down his brow, 
 And with humility returned towards him, 
 And, where inferiors embrace, embraced him. 15 
 
 " O glory of the Latians, thou," he said, 
 
 "Through whom our language showed what it could 
 O pride eternal of the place I came from, [do, 
 
40 . The Divine Comedy 
 
 What merit or what grace to me reveals thee ? 
 
 If I to hear thy words be worthy, tell me 20 
 
 If thou dost come from Hell, and from what cloister." 
 
 "Through all the circles of the doleful realm," 
 Responded he, " have I come hitherward ; 
 Heaven's power impelled me, and with that I come. 
 
 I by not doing, not by doing, lost 25 
 
 The sight of that high sun which thou desirest, 
 And which too late by me was recognized. 
 
 A place there is below not sad with torments, 
 But darkness only, where the lamentations 
 Have not the sound of wailing, but are sighs. 3° 
 
 There dwell I with the little innocents 
 
 Snatched by the teeth of Death, or ever they 
 Were from our human sinfulness exempt. 
 
 There dwell I among those who the three saintly 
 
 Virtues did not put on, and without vice 35 
 
 The others knew and followed all of them. 
 
 But if thou know and can, some indication 
 
 Give us by which we may the sooner come 
 Where Purgatory has its right beginning." 
 
 He answered : "No fixed place has been assigned us ; 40 
 'T is lawful for me to go up and round; 
 So far as I can go, as guide I join thee. 
 
Pur gator io fit. 41 
 
 But see already how the day declines, 
 
 And to go up by night we are not able ; 
 Therefore 't is well to think of some fair sojourn. 45 
 Souls are there on the right hand here withdrawn ; 
 If thou permit me I will lead thee to them, 
 And thou shalt know them not without delight." 
 
 " How is this ?" was the answer ; " should one wish 
 
 To mount by night would he prevented be 5° 
 
 By others ? or mayhap would not have power ? " 
 
 And on the ground the good Sordello drew 
 His finger, saying, " See, this line alone 
 Thou couldst not pass after the sun is gone ; 
 
 Not that aught else would hindrance give, however, 55 
 To going up, save the nocturnal darkness ; 
 This with the want of power the will perplexes. 
 
 We might indeed therewith return below, 
 
 And, wandering, walk the hill-side round about, 
 While the horizon holds the day imprisoned." 60 
 
 Thereon my Lord, as if in wonder, said : 
 
 " Do thou conduct us thither, where thou sayest 
 That we can take delight in tarrying." 
 
 Little had we withdrawn us from that place, 
 
 When I perceived the mount was hollowed out 65 
 
 In fashion as the valleys here are hollowed. 
 6 
 
42 The Divine Comedy 
 
 " Thitherward," said that shade, " will we repair, 
 Where of itself the hill-side makes a lap, 
 And there for the new day will we await." 
 'Twixt hill and plain there was a winding path 70 
 
 Which led us to the margin of that dell, 
 Where dies the border more than half away. 
 Gold and fine silver, and scarlet and pearl-white, 
 The Indian wood resplendent and serene, 
 Fresh emerald the moment it is broken, 75 
 
 By herbage and by flowers within that hollow 
 
 Planted, each one in color would be vanquished, 
 As by its greater vanquished is the less. 
 Nor in that place had nature painted only, 
 
 But of the sweetness of a thousand odors 80 
 
 Made there a mingled fragrance and unknown. 
 "Salve Regina" on the green and flowers 
 There seated, singing, spirits I beheld, 
 Which were not visible outside the valley. 
 " Before the scanty sun now seeks his nest," 85 
 
 Began the Mantuan who had led us thither, 
 "Among them do not wish me to conduct you. 
 Better from off this ledge the acts and faces 
 Of all of them will you discriminate, 
 Than in the plain below received among them. 90 
 
Pttrgatorio vn. 43 
 
 He who sits highest, and the semblance bears 
 
 Of having what he should have done neglected, 
 And to the others' song moves not his lips, 
 
 Rudolph the Emperor was, who had the power 
 
 To heal the wounds that Italy have slain, 9s 
 
 So that through others slowly she revives. 
 
 The other, who in look doth comfort him, 
 
 Governed the region where the water springs, 
 The Moldau bears the Elbe, and Elbe the sea. 
 
 His name was Ottocar ; and in swaddling-clothes 1°° 
 
 Far better he than bearded Winceslaus" 
 His son, who feeds in luxury and ease. 
 
 And the small-nosed, who close in council seems 
 With him that has an aspect so benign, 
 Died fleeing and disflowering the lily ; 105 
 
 Look there, how he is beating at his breast ! 
 Behold the other one, who for his cheek 
 Sighing has made of his own palm a bed ; 
 
 Father and father-in-law of France's Pest 
 
 Are they, and know his vicious life and lewd, "° 
 
 And hence proceeds the grief that so doth pierce them. 
 
 He who appears so stalwart, and chimes in, 
 
 Singing, with that one of the manly nose, 
 The cord of every valor wore begirt ; 
 
44 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And if as King had after him remained "5 
 
 The stripling who in rear of him is sitting, 
 Well had the valor passed from vase to vase, 
 
 Which cannot of the other heirs be said. 
 
 Frederick and Jacomo possess the realms, 
 
 But none the better heritage possesses. 120 
 
 Not oftentimes upriseth through the branches 
 The probity of man ; and this He wills 
 Who gives it, so that we may ask of Him. 
 
 Eke to the large-nosed reach my words, no less 
 
 Than to the other, Pier, who with him sings ; 125 
 Whence Provence and Apulia grieve already. 
 
 The plant is as inferior to its seed, 
 
 As more than Beatrice and Margaret 
 Costanza boasteth of her husband still. 
 
 Behold the monarch of the simple life, 13° 
 
 Harry of England, sitting there alone ; 
 He in his branches has a better issue. 
 
 He who the lowest on the ground among them 
 Sits looking upward, is the Marquis William, 
 For whose sake Alessandria and her war 135 
 
 Make Monferrat and Canavese weep." 
 
CANTO VIII. 
 
 "HP WAS now the hour that turneth back desire 
 In those who sail the sea, and melts the heart, 
 The day they 've said to their sweet friends farewell, 
 
 And the new pilgrim penetrates with love, 
 
 If he doth hear from far away a bell 5 
 
 That seemeth to deplore the dying day, 
 
 When I began to make of no avail 
 
 My hearing, and to watch one of the souls 
 Uprisen, that begged attention with its hand. 
 
 It joined and lifted upward both its palms, 1° 
 
 Fixing its eyes upon the orient, 
 As if it said to God, " Naught else I care for." 
 
 " Te lucis ante " so devoutly issued 
 
 Forth from its mouth, and with such dulcet notes, 
 It made me issue forth from my own mind. is 
 
 And then the others, sweetly and devoutly, 
 
 Accompanied it through all the hymn entire, 
 Having their eyes on the supernal wheels. 
 
46 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Here, Reader, fix thine eyes well on the truth, 
 
 For now indeed so subtile is the veil, 20 
 
 Surely to penetrate within is easy. 
 
 I saw that army of the gentle-born 
 
 Thereafterward in silence upward gaze, 
 As if in expectation, pale and humble ; 
 
 And from on high come forth and down descend, 25 
 
 I saw two Angels with two flaming swords, 
 Truncated and deprived of their points. 
 
 Green as the little leaflets just now born 
 
 Their garments were, which, by their verdant pinions 
 Beaten and blown abroad, they trailed behind. 30 
 
 One just above us came to take his station, 
 And one descended to the opposite bank, 
 So that the people were contained between them. 
 
 Clearly in them discerned I the blond head; 
 
 But in their faces was the eye bewildered, 35 
 
 As faculty confounded by excess. 
 
 " From Mary's bosom both of them have come," 
 Sordello said, " as guardians of the valley 
 Against the serpent, that will come anon." 
 
 Whereupon I, who knew not by what road, 40 
 
 Turned round about, and closely drew myself, 
 Utterly frozen, to the faithful shoulders. 
 
Pur gator io viil 47 
 
 And once again Sordello : " Now descend we 
 
 'Mid the grand shades, and we will speak to them ; 
 Right pleasant will it be for them to see you." 45 
 
 Only three steps I think that I descended, 
 
 And was below, and saw one who was looking 
 Only at me, as if he fain would know me. 
 
 Already now the air was growing dark, 
 
 But not so that between his eyes and mine s° 
 
 It did not show what it before locked up. 
 
 Tow'rds me he moved, and I tow'rds him did move ; 
 Noble Judge Nino ! how it me delighted, 
 When I beheld thee not among the damned ! 
 
 No greeting fair was left unsaid between us ; 55 
 
 Then asked he : " How long is it since thou earnest 
 O'er the far waters to the mountain's foot ?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said I to him, " through the dismal places 
 I came this morn ; and am in the first life, 
 Albeit the other, going thus, I gain." 6o 
 
 And on the instant my reply was heard, 
 
 He and Sordello both shrank back from me, 
 Like people who are suddenly bewildered. 
 
 One to Virgilius, and the other turned 
 
 To one who sat there, crying, " Up, Currado ! 6 S 
 
 Come and behold what God in grace has willed!" 
 
48 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Then, turned to me : " By that especial grace 
 Thou owest unto Him, who so conceals 
 His own first wherefore, that it has no ford, 
 
 When thou shalt be beyond the waters wide, 7° 
 
 Tell my Giovanna that she pray for me, 
 Where answer to the innocent is made. 
 
 I do not think her mother loves me more, 
 
 Since she has laid aside her wimple white, 
 
 Which she, unhappy, needs must wish again. 75 
 
 Through her full easily is comprehended 
 
 How long in woman lasts the fire of love, 
 If eye or touch do not relight it often. 
 
 So fair a hatchment will not make for her 
 
 The Viper marshalling the Milanese 80 
 
 A-field, as would have made Gallura's Cock." 
 
 In this wise spake he, with the stamp impressed 
 Upon his aspect of that righteous zeal 
 Which measurably burneth in the heart. 
 
 My greedy eyes still wandered up to heaven, s 5 
 
 Still to that point where slowest are the stars, 
 Even as a wheel the nearest to its axle. 
 
 And my Conductor : " Son, what dost thou gaze at 
 
 Up there?" And I to him : " At those three torches 
 With which this hither pole is all on fire." 90 
 
Purgatorio viii. 49 
 
 And he to me : " The four resplendent stars 
 
 Thou sawest this morning are down yonder low, 
 And these have mounted up to where those were." 
 
 As he was speaking, to himself Sordello 
 
 Drew him, and said, " Lo there our Adversary!" 95 * 
 And pointed with his finger to look thither. 
 
 Upon the side on which the little valley 
 
 No barrier hath, a serpent was ; perchance 
 The same which gave to Eve the bitter food. 
 
 'Twixt grass and flowers came on the evil streak, 100 
 
 Turning at times its head about, and licking 
 Its back like to a beast that smoothes itself. 
 
 I did not see, and therefore cannot say 
 
 How the celestial falcons 'gan to move, 
 
 But well I saw that they were both in motion. 105 
 
 Hearing the air cleft by their verdant wings, 
 
 The serpent fled, and round the Angels wheeled, 
 Up to their stations flying back alike. 
 
 The shade that to" the Judge had near approached 
 
 When he had called, throughout that whole assault no 
 Had not a moment loosed its gaze on me. 
 
 "So may the light that leadeth thee on high 
 
 Find in thine own free-will as much of wax 
 As needful is up to the highest azure," 
 
 7 
 
50 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Began it, "if some true intelligence u 5 
 
 Of Valdimagra or its neighborhood 
 Thou knowest, tell it me, who once was great there. 
 
 Currado Malaspina was I called ; 
 
 I 'm not the elder, but from him descended ; 
 
 To mine I bore the love which here refineth." 120 
 
 "O," said I unto him, "through your domains 
 I never passed, but where is there a dwelling 
 Throughout all Europe, where they are not known ? 
 
 That fame, which doeth honor to your house, 
 
 Proclaims its Signors and proclaims its land, 125 
 
 So that he knows of them who ne'er was there. 
 
 And, as I hope for heaven, I swear to you 
 Your honored family in naught abates 
 The glory of the purse and of the sword. 
 
 It is so privileged by use and nature, 130 
 
 That though a guilty head misguide the world, 
 Sole it goes right, and scorns the evil way." 
 
 And he : " Now go ; for the sun shall not lie 
 
 Seven times upon the pillow which the Ram 
 
 With all his four feet covers and bestrides, 135 
 
 Before that such a courteous opinion 
 
 Shall in the middle of thy head be nailed 
 With greater nails than of another's speech, 
 
 Unless the course of justice standeth still." 
 
T 
 
 CANTO IX. 
 
 HE concubine of old Tithonus now 
 Gleamed white upon the eastern balcony, 
 Forth from the arms of her sweet paramour; 
 
 With gems her forehead all relucent was, 
 
 Set in the shape of that cold animal s 
 
 Which with its tail doth smite amain the nations, 
 
 And of the steps, with which she mounts, the Night 
 Had taken two in that place where we were, 
 And now the third was bending down its wings ; 
 
 When I, who something had of Adam in me, i° 
 
 Vanquished by sleep, upon the grass reclined, 
 There where all five of us already sat. 
 
 Just at the hour when her sad lay begins 
 
 The little swallow, near unto the morning, 
 Perchance in memory of her former woes, 15 
 
 And when the mind of man, a wanderer 
 
 More from the flesh, and less by thought imprisoned, 
 Almost prophetic in its visions is, 
 
52 The Divine Comedy 
 
 In dreams it seemed to me I saw suspended 
 
 An eagle in the sky, with plumes of gold, 20 
 
 With wings wide open, and intent to stoop, 
 
 And this, it seemed to me, was where had been 
 By Ganymede his kith and kin abandoned, 
 When to the high consistory he was rapt. 
 
 I thought within myself, perchance he strikes 25 
 
 From habit only here, and from elsewhere 
 Disdains to bear up any in his feet. 
 
 Then wheeling somewhat more, it seemed to me, 
 Terrible as the lightning he descended, 
 And snatched me upward even to the fire. 3° 
 
 Therein it seemed that he and I were burning, 
 And the imagined fire did scorch me so, 
 That of necessity my sleep was broken. 
 
 Not otherwise Achilles started up, 
 
 Around him turning his awakened eyes, 35 
 
 And knowing not the place in which he was, 
 
 What time from Chiron stealthily his mother 
 Carried him sleeping in her arms to Scyros, 
 Wherefrom the Greeks withdrew him afterwards, 
 
 Than I upstarted, when from off my face 4° 
 
 Sleep fled away ; and pallid I became, 
 As doth the man who freezes with affright. 
 
Purgatorio ix. 53 
 
 Only my Comforter was at my side, 
 
 And now the sun was more than two hours high, 
 
 And turned towards the sea-shore was my face. 45 
 " Be not intimidated," said my Lord, 
 
 " Be reassured, for all is well with us ; 
 
 Do not restrain, but put forth all thy strength. 
 Thou hast at length arrived at Purgatory ; 
 
 See there the cliff that closes it around ; s° 
 
 See there the entrance, where it seems disjoined. 
 Whilom at dawn, which doth precede the day, 
 
 When inwardly thy spirit was asleep 
 
 Upon the flowers that deck the land below, 
 There came a Lady and said : ' I am Lucia ; 55 
 
 Let me take this one up, who is asleep ; 
 
 So will I make his journey easier for him.' 
 Sordello and the other noble shapes 
 
 Remained; she took thee, and, as day grew bright, 
 
 Upward she came, and I upon her footsteps. 60 
 
 She laid thee here ; and first her beauteous eyes 
 
 That open entrance pointed out to me ; 
 
 Then she and sleep together went away." 
 In guise of one whose doubts are reassured, 
 
 And who to confidence his fear doth change, 65 
 
 After the truth has been discovered to him, 
 
54 The Divine Comedy 
 
 So did I change; and when without disquiet 
 
 My Leader saw me, up along the cliff 
 
 He moved, and I behind him, tow'rd the height. 
 Reader, thou seest well how I exalt 7° 
 
 My theme, and therefore if with greater art 
 
 I fortify it, marvel not thereat. 
 Nearer approached we, and were in such place, 
 
 That there, where first appeared to me a rift 
 
 Like to a crevice that disparts a wall, 75 
 
 I saw a portal, and three stairs beneath, 
 
 Diverse in color, to go up to it, 
 
 And a gate-keeper, who yet spake no word. 
 And as I opened more and more mine eyes, 
 
 I saw him seated on the highest stair, so 
 
 Such in the face that I endured it not. 
 And in his hand he had a naked sword, 
 
 Which so reflected back the sunbeams tow'rds us, 
 
 That oft in vain I lifted up mine eyes. 
 " Tell it from where you are, what is 't you wish ?" 85 
 
 Began he to exclaim ; " Where is the escort ? 
 
 Take heed your coming hither harm you not ! " 
 " A Lady of Heaven, with these things conversant," 
 
 My Master answered him, " but even now 
 
 Said to us, ' Thither go ; there is the portal.' " 90 
 
Ptcrgatorto ix. 55 
 
 " And may she speed your footsteps in all good," 
 Again began the courteous janitor ; 
 "Come forward then unto these stairs of ours." 
 Thither did we approach ; and the first stair 
 
 Was marble white, so polished and so smooth, 95 
 
 I mirrored myself therein as I appear. 
 The second, tinct of deeper hue than perse, 
 Was of a calcined and uneven stone, 
 Cracked all asunder lengthwise and across. 
 The third, that uppermost rests massively, 100 
 
 Porphyry seemed to me, as flaming red 
 As blood that from a vein is spirting forth. 
 Both of his feet was holding upon this 
 
 The Angel of God, upon the threshold seated, 
 Which seemed to me a stone of diamond. 105 
 
 Along the three stairs upward with good will 
 Did my Conductor draw me, saying: "Ask 
 Humbly that he the fastening may undo." 
 Devoutly at the holy feet I cast me, 
 
 For mercy's sake besought that he would open, no 
 But first upon my breast three times I smote. 
 Seven P's upon my forehead he described [wash 
 
 With the sword's point, and, " Take heed that thou 
 These wounds, when thou shalt be within," he said. 
 
56 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Ashes, or earth that dry is excavated, 115 
 
 Of the same color were with his attire, 
 And from beneath it he drew forth two keys. 
 
 One was of gold, and the other was of silver ; 
 
 First with the white, and after with the yellow, 
 Plied he the door, so that I was content. ™° 
 
 " Whenever faileth either of these keys 
 
 So that it turn not rightly in the lock," 
 He said to us, " this entrance doth not open. 
 
 More precious one is, but the other needs 
 
 More art and intellect ere it unlock, 125 
 
 For it is that which doth the knot unloose. 
 
 From Peter I have them ; and he bade me err 
 Rather in opening than in keeping shut, 
 If people but fall down before my feet." 
 
 Then pushed the portals of the sacred door, 13° 
 
 Exclaiming: "Enter; but I give you warning 
 That forth returns whoever looks behind." 
 
 And when upon their hinges were turned round 
 The swivels of that consecrated gate, 
 Which are of metal, massive and sonorous, 13s 
 
 Roared not so loud, nor so discordant seemed 
 Tarpeia, when was ta'en from it the good 
 Metellus, wherefore meagre it remained. 
 
140 
 
 Ptirgatorio ix. $j 
 
 At the first thunder-peal I turned attentive, 
 
 And " Te Deum landa?nus " seemed to hear 
 In voices mingled with sweet melody. 
 
 Exactly such an image rendered me 
 
 That which I heard, as we are wont to catch, 
 When people singing with the organ stand; 
 
 For now we hear, and now hear not, the words. 
 
 145 
 
CANTO X. 
 
 \ 17 HEN we had crossed the threshold of the door 
 Which the perverted love of souls disuses, 
 Because it makes the crooked way seem straight, 
 
 Re-echoing I heard it closed again ; 
 
 And if I had turned back mine eyes upon it, 5 
 
 What for my failing had been fit excuse ? 
 
 We mounted upward through a rifted rock, 
 Which undulated to this side and that, 
 Even as a wave receding and advancing. 
 
 " Here it behoves us use a little art," 10 
 
 Began my Leader, " to adapt ourselves 
 Now here, now there, to the receding side." 
 
 And this our footsteps so infrequent made, 
 
 That sooner had the moon's decreasing disk 
 Regained its bed to sink again to rest, is 
 
 Than we were forth from out that needle's eye ; 
 But when we free and in the open were, 
 There where the mountain backward piles itself, 
 
Purgatorio x. 59 
 
 I wearied out, and both of us uncertain 
 
 About our way, we stopped upon a plain 20 
 
 More desolate than roads across the deserts. 
 
 From where its margin borders on the void, 
 To foot of the high bank that ever rises, 
 A human body three times told would measure ; 
 
 And far as eye of mine could wing its flight, *s 
 
 Now on the left, and on the right flank now, 
 The same this cornice did appear to me. 
 
 Thereon our feet had not been moved as yet, 
 
 When I perceived the embankment round about, 
 Which all right of ascent had interdicted, 3° 
 
 To be of marble white, and so adorned 
 
 With sculptures, that not only Polycletus, 
 
 But Nature's self, had there been put to shame. 
 
 The Angel, who came down to earth with tidings 
 
 Of peace, that had been wept for many a year, 35 
 And opened Heaven from its long interdict, 
 
 In front of us appeared so truthfully 
 
 There sculptured in a gracious attitude, 
 He did not seem an image that is silent. 
 
 One would have sworn that he was saying, "Ave"; 4° 
 For she was there in effigy portrayed 
 Who turned the key to ope the exalted love, 
 
60 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And in her mien this language had impressed, 
 " Ecce ancilla Dei" as distinctly 
 As any figure stamps itself in wax. 45 
 
 " Keep not thy mind upon one place alone," 
 
 The gentle Master said, who had me standing 
 Upon that side where people have their hearts ; 
 
 Whereat I moved mine eyes, and I beheld 
 
 In rear of Mary, and upon that side so 
 
 Where he was standing who conducted me, 
 
 Another story on the rock imposed ; 
 
 Wherefore I passed Virgilius and drew near, 
 So that before mine eyes it might be set. 
 
 There sculptured in the self-same marble were 55 
 
 The cart and oxen, drawing the holy ark, 
 Wherefore one dreads an office not appointed. 
 
 People appeared in front, and all of them 
 In seven choirs divided, of two senses 
 Made one say, "No," the other, "Yes, they sing." 60 
 
 Likewise unto the smoke of the frankincense, 
 
 Which there was imaged forth, the eyes and nose 
 Were in the yes and no discordant made. 
 
 Preceded there the vessel benedight, 
 
 Dancing with girded loins, the humble Psalmist, 65 
 And more and less than King was he in this. 
 
Purgatorio x. 61 
 
 Opposite, represented at the window 
 
 Of a great palace, Michal looked upon him, 
 Even as a woman scornful and afflicted. 
 
 I moved my feet from where I had been standing, 70 
 
 To examine near at hand another story, 
 Which after Michal glimmered white upon me. 
 
 There the high glory of the Roman Prince 
 Was chronicled, whose great beneficence 
 Moved Gregory to his great victory ; 75 
 
 'T is of the Emperor Trajan I am speaking ; 
 And a poor widow at his bridle stood, 
 In attitude of weeping and of grief. 
 
 Around about him seemed it thronged and full 
 
 Of cavaliers, and the eagles in the gold 80 
 
 Above them visibly in the wind were moving. 
 
 The wretched woman in the midst of these 
 
 Seemed to be saying : " Give me vengeance, Lord, 
 For my dead son, for whom my heart is breaking." 
 
 And he to answer her : " Now wait until 85 
 
 I shall return." And she : " My Lord," like one 
 In whom grief is impatient, "shouldst thou not 
 
 Return ?" And he : "Who shall be where I am 
 
 Will give it thee." And she: "Good deed of others 
 What boots it thee, if thou neglect thine own ? " 90 
 
62 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Whence he : " Now comfort thee, for it behoves me 
 That I discharge my duty ere I move ; 
 Justice so wills, and pity doth retain me." 
 
 He who on no new thing has ever looked 
 
 Was the creator of this visible language, 95 
 
 Novel to us, for here it is not found. 
 
 While I delighted me in contemplating 
 The images of such humility, 
 And dear to look on for their Maker's sake, 
 
 " Behold, upon this side, but rare they make *<*> 
 
 Their steps," the Poet murmured, " many people ; 
 These will direct us to the lofty stairs." 
 
 Mine eyes, that in beholding were intent 
 
 To see new things, of which they curious are, 
 
 In turning round towards him were not slow. 105 
 
 But still I wish not, Reader, thou shouldst swerve 
 From thy good purposes, because thou hearest 
 How God ordaineth that the debt be paid; 
 
 Attend not to the fashion of the torment, 
 
 Think of what follows; think that at the worst "° 
 It cannot reach beyond the mighty sentence. 
 
 "Master," began I, "that which I behold 
 
 Moving towards us seems to me not persons, 
 And what I know not, so in sight I waver." 
 
Pilt gator io x. 63 
 
 And he to me : "The grievous quality »s 
 
 Of this their torment bows them so to earth, 
 That my own eyes at first contended with it ; 
 But look there fixedly, and disentangle 
 
 By sight what cometh underneath those stones ; 
 Already canst thou see how each is stricken." **° 
 
 O ye proud Christians ! wretched, weary ones ! 
 Who, in the vision of the mind infirm, 
 Confidence have in your backsliding steps, 
 Do ye not comprehend that we are worms, 
 
 Born to bring forth the angelic butterfly Ia s 
 
 That flieth unto judgment without screen ? 
 Why floats aloft your spirit high in air ? 
 Like are ye unto insects undeveloped, 
 Even as the worm in whom formation fails ! 
 As to sustain a ceiling or a roof, '3° 
 
 In place of corbel, oftentimes a figure 
 Is seen to join its knees unto its breast, 
 Which makes of the unreal real anguish 
 
 Arise in him who sees it ; fashioned thus 
 Beheld I those, when I had ta'en good heed. '35 
 
 True is it, they were more or less bent down, 
 According as they more or less were laden ; 
 And he who had most patience in his looks 
 Weeping did seem to say, " I can no more ! " 
 
CANTO XI. 
 
 "(T^UR Father, thou who dwellest in the heavens, 
 Not circumscribed, but from the greater love 
 Thou bearest to the first effects on high, 
 
 Praised be thy name and thine omnipotence 
 
 By every creature, as befitting is 5 
 
 To render thanks to thy sweet effluence. 
 
 Come unto us the peace of thy dominion, 
 For unto it we cannot of ourselves, 
 If it come not, with all our intellect. 
 
 Even as thine own Angels of their will 1° 
 
 Make sacrifice to thee, Hosanna singing, 
 So may all men make sacrifice of theirs. 
 
 Give unto us this day our daily manna, 
 
 Withouten which in this rough wilderness 
 Backward goes he who toils most to advance. 15 
 
 And even as we the trespass we have suffered 
 Pardon in one another, pardon thou 
 Benignly, and regard not our desert. 
 
Pur gator io xi. 65 
 
 Our virtue, which is easily o'ercome, 
 
 Put not to proof with the old Adversary, 2° 
 
 But thou from him who spurs it so, deliver. 
 
 This last petition verily, dear Lord, 
 
 Not for ourselves is made, who need it not, 
 
 But for their sake who have remained behind us." 
 
 Thus for themselves and us good furtherance *5 
 
 Those shades imploring, went beneath a weight 
 Like unto that of which we sometimes dream, 
 
 Unequally in anguish round and round 
 
 And weary all, upon that foremost cornice, 
 Purging away the smoke-stains of the world. 30 
 
 If there good words are always said for us, 
 
 What may not here be said and done for them, 
 By those who have a good root to their will ? 
 
 Well may we help them wash away the marks 
 
 That hence they carried, so that clean and light 35 
 They may ascend unto the starry wheels ! 
 
 "Ah ! so may pity and justice you disburden 
 
 Soon, that ye may have power to move the wing, 
 That shall uplift you after your desire, 
 
 Show us on which hand tow'rd the stairs the way 40 
 
 Is shortest, and if more than one the passes, 
 Point us out that which least abruptly falls; 
 
66 The Divine Comedy 
 
 For he who cometh with me, through the burden 
 Of Adam's flesh wherewith he is invested, 
 Against his will is chary of his climbing." 45 
 
 The words of theirs which they returned to those 
 That he whom I was following had spoken, 
 It was not manifest from whom they came, 
 
 But it was said : " To the right hand come with us 
 
 Along the bank, and ye shall find a pass 5° 
 
 Possible for living person to ascend. 
 
 And were I not impeded by the stone, 
 
 Which this proud neck of mine doth subjugate, 
 Whence I am forced to hold my visage down, 
 
 Him, who still lives and does not name himself, 55 
 
 Would I regard, to see if I may know him 
 And make him piteous unto this burden. 
 
 A Latian was I, and born of a great Tuscan ; 
 Guglielmo Aldobrandeschi was my father ; 
 I know not if his name were ever with you. 60 
 
 The ancient blood and deeds of gallantry 
 
 Of my progenitors so arrogant made me 
 That, thinking not upon the common mother, 
 
 All men I held in scorn to such extent 
 
 I died therefor, as know the Sienese, 65 
 
 And every child in Campagnatico. 
 
Pur gator io xi. 67 
 
 I am Omberto; and not to me alone 
 
 Has pride done harm, but all my kith and kin 
 Has with it dragged into adversity. 
 
 And here must I this burden bear for it 7° 
 
 Till God be satisfied, since I did not 
 Among the living, here among the dead." 
 
 Listening I downward bent my countenance ; 
 
 And one of them, not this one who was speaking, 
 Twisted himself beneath the weight that cramps him, 
 
 And looked at me, and knew me, and called out, 76 
 
 Keeping his eyes laboriously fixed 
 On me, who all bowed down was going with them. 
 
 " O," asked I him, " art thou not Oderisi, 
 
 Agobbio's honor, and honor of that art »° 
 
 Which is in Paris called illuminating ? " 
 
 " Brother," said he, " more laughing are the leaves 
 Touched by the brush of Franco Bolognese ; 
 All his the honor now, and mine in part. 
 
 In sooth I had not been so courteous 8 5 
 
 While I was living, for the great desire 
 Of excellence, on which my heart was bent. 
 
 Here of such pride is paid the forfeiture ; 
 
 And yet I should not be here, were it not 
 
 That, having power to sin, I turned to God. 9° 
 
68 The Divine Comedy 
 
 O thou vain glory of the human powers, 
 
 How little green upon thy summit lingers, 
 If 't be not followed by an age of grossness ! 
 
 In painting Cimabue thought that he 
 
 Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry, 95 
 
 So that the other's fame is growing dim. 
 
 So has one Guido from the other taken 
 
 The glory of our tongue, and he perchance 
 
 Is born, who from the nest shall chase them both. 
 
 Naught is this mundane rumor but a breath 1°° 
 
 Of wind, that comes now this way and now that, 
 And changes name, because it changes side. 
 
 What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off 
 
 From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead 
 Before thou left the pappo and the dindi, 105 
 
 Ere pass a thousand years ? which is a shorter 
 
 Space to the eterne, than twinkling of an eye 
 Unto the circle that in heaven wheels slowest. 
 
 With him, who takes so little of the road 
 
 In front of me, all Tuscany resounded; no 
 
 And now he scarce is lisped of in Siena, 
 
 Where he was lord, what time was overthrown 
 The Florentine delirium, that Superb 
 Was at that day as now 't is prostitute. 
 
Purgatorio xi. 69 
 
 Your reputation is the color of grass 115 
 
 Which comes and goes, and that discolors it 
 By which it issues green from out the earth." 
 
 And I : " Thy true speech fills my heart with good 
 Humility, and great tumor thou assuagest; 
 But who is he, of whom just now thou spakest?" 120 
 
 "That," he replied, "is Provenzan Salvani, 
 And he is here because he had presumed 
 To bring Siena all into his hands. 
 
 He has gone thus, and goeth without rest 
 
 E'er since he died; such money renders back 125 
 
 In payment he who is on earth too daring." 
 
 And I : "If every spirit who awaits 
 
 The verge of life before that he repent, 
 Remains below there and ascends not hither, 
 
 (Unless good orison shall him bestead,) 130 
 
 Until as much time as he lived be passed, 
 How was the coming granted him in largess?" 
 
 " When he in greatest splendor lived," said he, 
 " Freely upon the Campo of Siena, 
 All shame being laid aside, he placed himself; 135 
 
 And there to draw his friend from the duress 
 
 Which in the prison-house of Charles he suffered, 
 He brought himself to tremble in each vein. 
 
jo The Divine Comedy 
 
 I say no more, and know that I speak darkly ; 
 
 Yet little time shall pass before thy neighbors 140 
 
 Will so demean themselves that thou canst gloss it. 
 
 This action has released him from those confines." 
 
CANTO XII. 
 
 A BREAST, like oxen going in a yoke, 
 I with that heavy-laden soul went on, 
 As long as the sweet pedagogue permitted ; 
 
 But when he said, " Leave him, and onward pass, 
 
 For here 't is good that with the sail and oars, s 
 
 As much as may be, each push on his barque " ; 
 
 Upright, as walking wills it, I redressed 
 
 My person, notwithstanding that my thoughts 
 Remained within me downcast and abashed. 
 
 I had moved on, and followed willingly i° 
 
 The footsteps of my Master, and we both 
 Already showed how light of foot we were, 
 
 When unto me he said : " Cast down thine eyes ; 
 'T were well for thee, to alleviate the way, 
 To look upon the bed beneath thy feet." 15 
 
 As, that some memory may exist of them, 
 
 Above the buried dead their tombs in earth 
 Bear sculptured on them what they were before ; 
 
72 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Whence often there we weep for them afresh, 
 
 From pricking of remembrance, which alone 20 
 
 To the compassionate doth set it;s spur; 
 
 So saw I there, but of a better semblance 
 
 In point of artifice, with figures covered 
 Whate'er as pathway from the mount projects. 
 
 I saw that one who was created noble 2 5 
 
 More than all other creatures, down from heaven 
 Flaming with lightnings fall upon one side. 
 
 I saw Briareus smitten by the dart 
 
 Celestial, lying on the other side, 
 
 Heavy upon the earth by mortal frost. 3° 
 
 I saw Thymbrasus, Pallas saw, and Mars, 
 
 Still clad in armor round about their father, 
 Gaze at the scattered members of the giants. 
 
 I saw, at foot of his great labor, Nimrod, 
 
 As if bewildered, looking at the people 35 
 
 Who had been proud with him in Sennaar. 
 
 O Niobe ! with what afflicted eyes 
 
 Thee I beheld upon the pathway traced, 
 Between thy seven and seven children slain ! 
 
 O Saul ! how fallen upon thy proper sword 40 
 
 Didst thou appear there lifeless in Gilboa, 
 That felt thereafter neither rain nor dew ! 
 
Pur gator io xil . 73 
 
 O mad Arachne ! so I thee beheld 
 
 E'en then half spider, sad upon the shreds 
 
 Of fabric wrought in evil hour for thee ! 45 
 
 Rehoboam ! no more seems to threaten 
 
 Thine image there ; but full of consternation 
 
 A chariot bears it off, when none pursues ! 
 Displayed moreo'er the adamantine pavement 
 
 How unto his own mother made Alcmaeon 5° 
 
 Costly appear the luckless ornament ; 
 Displayed how his own sons did throw themselves 
 
 Upon Sennacherib within the temple, 
 
 And how, he being dead, they left him there ; 
 Displayed the ruin and the cruel carnage 55 
 
 That Tomyris wrought, when she to Cyrus said, 
 
 " Blood didst thou thirst for, and with blood I glut 
 Displayed how routed fled the Assyrians [thee ! " 
 
 After that Holofernes had been slain, 
 
 And likewise the remainder of that slaughter. 60 
 
 1 saw there Troy in ashes and in caverns; 
 
 O Ilion ! thee, how abject and debased, 
 Displayed the image that is there discerned ! 
 Who e'er of pencil master was or stile, 
 
 That could portray the shades and traits which there 
 Would cause each subtile genius to admire? 66 
 
 10 
 
74 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Dead seemed the dead, the living seemed alive ; 
 
 Better than I saw not who saw the truth, 
 
 All that I trod upon while bowed I went. 
 Now wax ye proud, and on with looks uplifted, 70 
 
 Ye sons of Eve, and bow not down your faces 
 
 So that ye may behold your evil ways! 
 More of the mount by us was now encompassed, 
 
 And far more spent the circuit of the sun, 
 
 Than had the mind preoccupied imagined, 75 
 
 When he, who ever watchful in advance 
 *« Was going on, began : " Lift up thy head, 
 
 'T is no more time to go thus meditating. 
 Lo there an Angel who is making haste 
 
 To come towards us ; lo, returning is so 
 
 From service of the day the sixth handmaiden. 
 With reverence thine acts and looks adorn, 
 
 So that he may delight to speed us upward ; 
 
 Think that this day will never dawn again." 
 I was familiar with his admonition s 5 
 
 Ever to lose no time ; so on this theme 
 
 He could not unto me speak covertly. 
 Towards us came the being beautiful 
 
 Vested in white, and in his countenance 
 
 Such as appears the tremulous morning star. 9° 
 
Ptcrgatorio xn. 75 
 
 His arms he opened, and opened then his wings ; 
 
 " Come," said he, " near at hand here are the steps, 
 And easy from henceforth is the ascent." 
 
 At this announcement few are they who come ! 
 
 O human creatures, born to soar aloft, 9s 
 
 Why fall ye thus before a little wind ? 
 
 He led us on to where the rock was cleft ; 
 
 There smote upon my forehead with his wings, 
 Then a safe passage promised unto me. 
 
 As on the right hand, to ascend the mount i°<> 
 
 Where seated is the church that lordeth it 
 O'er the well-guided, above Rubaconte, 
 
 The bold abruptness of the ascent is broken 
 
 By stairways that were made there in the age 
 When still were safe the ledger and the stave, 105 
 
 E'en thus attempered is the bank which falls 
 
 Sheer downward from the second circle there; 
 But on this side and that the high rock grazes. 
 
 As we were turning thitherward our persons, 
 
 " Beati pauper es spiritu" voices no 
 
 Sang in such wise that speech could tell it not. 
 
 Ah me ! how different are these entrances 
 
 From the Infernal ! for with anthems here 
 One enters, and below with wild laments. 
 
7 6 The Divine Comedy 
 
 We now were mounting up the sacred stairs, "s 
 
 And it appeared to me by far more easy 
 Than on the plain it had appeared before. 
 
 Whence I : " My Master, say, what heavy thing 
 Has been uplifted from me, so that hardly 
 Aught of fatigue is felt by me in walking ? " i*o 
 
 He answered : " When the P's which have remained 
 Still on thy face almost obliterate 
 Shall wholly, as the first is, be erased, 
 
 Thy feet will be so vanquished by good will, 
 
 That not alone they shall not feel fatigue, 125 
 
 But urging up will be to them delight." 
 
 Then did I even as they do who are going 
 
 With something on the head to them unknown, 
 Unless the signs of others make them doubt, 
 
 Wherefore the hand to ascertain is helpful, 130 
 
 And seeks and finds, and doth fulfil the office 
 Which cannot be accomplished by the sight ; 
 
 And with the fingers of the right hand spread 
 I found but six the letters, that had carved 
 Upon my temples he who bore the keys; 135 
 
 Upon beholding which my Leader smiled. 
 
CANTO XIII. 
 
 "V\rE were upon the summit of the stairs, 
 Where for the second time is cut away 
 The mountain, which ascending shriveth all. 
 
 There in like manner doth a cornice bind 
 
 The hill all round about, as does the first, s 
 
 Save that its arc more suddenly is curved. 
 
 Shade is there none, nor sculpture that appears ; 
 
 So seems the bank, and so the road seems smooth, 
 With but the livid color of the stone. 
 
 " If to inquire we wait for people here," i° 
 
 The Poet said, " I fear that peradventure 
 Too much delay will our election have." 
 
 Then steadfast on the sun his eyes he fixed, 
 
 Made his right side the centre of his motion, 
 
 And turned the left part of himself about. is 
 
 " O thou sweet light ! with trust in whom I enter 
 Upon this novel journey, do thou lead us," 
 Said he, "as one within here should be led. 
 
78 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Thou warmest the world, thou shinest over it ; 
 
 If other reason prompt not otherwise, 20 
 
 Thy rays should evermore our leaders be ! " 
 
 As much as here is counted for a mile, 
 
 So much already there had we advanced 
 In little time, by dint of ready will ; 
 
 And tow'rds us there were heard to fly, albeit 25 
 
 They were not visible, spirits uttering 
 Unto Love's table courteous invitations. 
 
 The first voice that passed onward in its flight, 
 " Vinum non habent" said in accents loud, 
 And went reiterating it behind us. 3° 
 
 And ere it wholly grew inaudible 
 
 Because of distance, passed another, crying, 
 " I am Orestes ! " and it also stayed not. 
 
 " O," said I, " Father, these, what voices are they ? " 
 
 And even as I asked, behold the third, 35 
 
 Saying: "Love those from whom ye have had evil!" 
 
 And the good Master said : " This circle scourges 
 The sin of envy, and on that account 
 Are drawn from love the lashes of the scourge. 
 
 The bridle of another sound shall be ; 40 
 
 I think that thou wilt hear it, as I judge, 
 Before thou comest to the Pass of Pardon. 
 
Pur -gator 'to xiil 70 
 
 But fix thine eyes athwart the air right steadfast, 
 And people thou wilt see before us sitting, 
 And each one close against the cliff is seated." 4S 
 
 Then wider than at first mine eyes I opened ; 
 
 I looked before me, and saw shades with mantles 
 Not from the color of the stone diverse. 
 And when we were a little farther onward, 
 
 I heard a cry of, " Mary, pray for us ! " 50 
 
 A cry of, " Michael, Peter, and all Saints ! " 
 I do not think there walketh still on earth 
 
 A man so hard, that he would not be pierced 
 With pity at what afterward I saw. 
 For when I had approached so near to them 5S 
 
 That manifest to me their acts became, 
 Drained was I at the eyes by heavy grief. 
 Covered with sackcloth vile they seemed to me, 
 And one sustained the other with his shoulder, 
 And all of them were by the bank sustained. 60 
 
 Thus do the blind, in want of livelihood, 
 
 Stand at the doors of churches asking alms, 
 And one upon another leans his head, 
 So that in others pity soon may rise, 
 
 Not only at the accent of their words, 6 5 
 
 But at their aspect, which no less implores. 
 
80 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And as unto the blind the sun comes not, 
 
 So to the shades, of whom just now I spake, 
 
 Heaven's light will not be bounteous of itself; 
 For all their lids an iron wire transpierces, 70 
 
 And sews them up, as to a sparhawk wild 
 
 Is done, because it will not quiet stay. 
 To me it seemed, in passing, to do outrage, 
 
 Seeing the others without being seen ; 
 
 Wherefore I turned me to my counsel sage. 75 
 
 Well knew he what the mute one wished to say, 
 
 And therefore waited not for my demand, 
 
 But said : " Speak, and be brief, and to the point." 
 I had Virgilius upon that side 
 
 Of the embankment from which ohe may fall, 80 
 
 Since by no border 't is engarlanded; 
 Upon the other side of me I had 
 
 The shades devout, who through the horrible seam 
 
 Pressed out the tears so that they bathed their cheeks. 
 To them I turned me, and, " O people, certain," 85 
 
 Began I, " of beholding the high light, 
 
 Which your desire has solely in its care, 
 So may grace speedily dissolve the scum 
 
 Upon your consciences, that limpidly 
 
 Through them descend the river of the mind, 9° 
 
Purmtorio xiil 81 
 
 & 
 
 Tell me, for dear 't will be to me and gracious, 
 If any soul among you here is Latian, 
 And 't will perchance be good for him I learn it." 
 
 " O brother mine, each one is citizen 
 
 Of one true city ; but thy meaning is, 95 
 
 Who may have lived in Italy a pilgrim." 
 
 By way of answer this I seemed to hear 
 A little farther on than where I stood, 
 Whereat I made myself still nearer heard. 
 
 Among the rest I saw a shade that waited 100 
 
 In aspect, and should any one ask how, 
 Its chin it lifted upward like a blind man. 
 
 " Spirit," I said, " who stoopest to ascend, 
 If thou art he who did reply to me, 
 Make thyself known to me by place or name." 105 
 
 " Sienese was I," it replied, " and with 
 
 The others here recleanse my guilty life, 
 Weeping to Him to lend himself to us. 
 
 Sapient I was not, although I Sapia 
 
 Was called, and I was at another's harm no 
 
 More happy far than at my own good fortune. 
 
 And that thou mayst not think that I deceive thee, 
 Hear if I was as foolish as I tell thee. 
 The arc already of my years descending, 
 
82 The Divine Comedy 
 
 My fellow-citizens near unto Colle n S 
 
 Were joined in battle with their adversaries, 
 And I was praying God for what he willed. 
 
 Routed were they, and turned into the bitter 
 
 Passes of flight ; and I, the chase beholding, 
 
 A joy received unequalled by all others ; 120 
 
 So that I lifted upward my bold face 
 
 Crying to God, ' Henceforth I fear thee not/ 
 As did the blackbird at the little sunshine. 
 
 Peace I desired with God at the extreme 
 
 Of my existence, and as yet would not 125 
 
 My debt have been by penitence discharged, 
 
 Had it not been that in remembrance held me 
 Pier Pettignano in his holy prayers, 
 Who out of charity was grieved for me. 
 
 But who art thou, that into our conditions 130 
 
 Questioning goest, and hast thine eyes unbound 
 As I believe, and breathing dost discourse ? " 
 
 " Mine eyes," I said, " will yet be here ta'en from me, 
 But for short space ; for small is the offence 
 Committed by their being turned with envy. 135 
 
 Far greater is the fear, wherein suspended 
 My soul is, of the torment underneath, 
 For even now the load down there weighs on me." 
 
Ptir gator io xiil 83 
 
 And she to me : " Who led thee, then, among us 
 
 Up here, if to return below thou thinkest ? " 140 
 
 And I : " He who is with me, and speaks not ; 
 
 And living am I ; therefore ask of me, 
 
 Spirit elect, if thou wouldst have me move 
 O'er yonder yet my mortal feet for thee." 
 
 " O, this is such a novel thing to hear," hs 
 
 She answered, " that great sign it is God loves thee ; 
 Therefore with prayer of thine sometimes assist me. 
 
 And I implore, by what thou most desirest, 
 If e'er thou treadest the soil of Tuscany, 
 Well with my kindred reinstate my fame. 150 
 
 Them wilt thou see among that people vain 
 
 Who hope in Talamone, and will lose there 
 More hope than in discovering the Diana ; 
 
 But there still more the admirals will lose." 
 
CANTO XIV. 
 
 "^VITHO is this one that goes about our mountain, 
 Or ever Death has given him power of flight, 
 And opes his eyes and shuts them at his will ? " 
 
 " I know not who, but know he 's not alone; 
 
 Ask him thyself, for thou art nearer to him, s 
 
 And gently, so that he may speak, accost him." 
 
 Thus did two spirits, leaning tow'rds each other, 
 Discourse about me there on the right hand ; 
 Then held supine their faces to address me. 
 
 And said the one : " O soul, that, fastened still 10 
 
 Within the body, tow'rds the heaven art going, 
 For charity console us, and declare 
 
 Whence comest and who art thou ; for thou mak'st us 
 As much to marvel at this grace of thine 
 As must a thing that never yet has been." 15 
 
 And I : " Through midst of Tuscany there wanders 
 A streamlet that is born in Falterona, 
 And not a hundred miles of course suffice it ;. 
 
Ptcrgatorio xiv. 85 
 
 From thereupon do I this body bring. 
 
 To tell you who I am were speech in vain, 20 
 
 Because my name as yet makes no great noise." 
 
 " If well thy meaning I can penetrate 
 
 With intellect of mine," then answered me 
 
 He who first spake, " thou speakest of the Arno." 
 
 And said the other to him : " Why concealed *s 
 
 This one the appellation of that river, 
 Even as a man doth of things horrible ? " 
 
 And thus the shade that questioned was of this 
 Himself acquitted : " I know not ; but truly 
 'T is fit the name of such a valley perish ; 3° 
 
 For from its fountain-head (where is so pregnant 
 The Alpine mountain whence is cleft Peloro 
 That in few places it that mark surpasses) 
 
 To where it yields itself in restoration 
 
 Of what the heaven doth of the sea dry up, 3s 
 
 Whence have the rivers that which goes with them, 
 
 Virtue is like an enemy avoided 
 
 By all, as is a serpent, through misfortune 
 
 Of place, or through bad habit that impels them ; 
 
 On which account have so transformed their nature 4° 
 The dwellers in that miserable valley, 
 It seems that Circe had them in her pasture. 
 
86 The Divine Comedy 
 
 'Mid ugly swine, of acorns worthier 
 
 Than other food for human use created, 
 
 It first directeth its impoverished way. 45 
 
 Curs findeth it thereafter, coming downward, 
 
 More snarling than their puissance demands, 
 And turns from them disdainfully its muzzle. 
 
 It goes on falling, and the more it grows, 
 
 The more it finds the dogs becoming wolves, 50 
 
 This maledict and misadventurous ditch. 
 
 Descended then through many a hollow gulf, 
 It finds the foxes so replete with fraud, 
 They fear no cunning that may master them. 
 
 Nor will I cease because another hears me ; 55 
 
 And well 't will be for him, if still he mind him 
 Of what a truthful spirit to me unravels. 
 
 Thy grandson I behold, who doth become 
 A hunter of those wolves upon the bank 
 Of the wild stream, and terrifies them all. 60 
 
 He sells their flesh, it being yet alive ; 
 
 Thereafter slaughters them like ancient beeves ; 
 Many of life, himself of praise, deprives. 
 
 Blood-stained he issues from the dismal forest ; 
 
 He leaves it such, a thousand years from now 65 
 In its primeval state 't is not re-wooded." 
 
Ptcrgatorio xiv. Sy 
 
 As at the announcement of impending ills 
 
 The face of him who listens is disturbed, 
 From whate'er side the peril seize upon him ; 
 
 So I beheld that other soul, which stood 7° 
 
 Turned round to listen, grow disturbed and sad, 
 When it had gathered to itself the word. 
 
 The speech of one and aspect of the other 
 
 Had me desirous made to know their names, 
 
 And question mixed with prayers I made thereof, 75 
 
 Whereat the spirit which first spake to me 
 
 Began again : "Thou wishest I should bring me 
 To do for thee what thou 'It not do for me ; 
 
 But since God willeth that in thee shine forth 
 
 Such grace of his, I '11 not be chary with thee ; 80 
 Know, then, that I Guido del Duca am. 
 
 My blood was so with envy set on fire, 
 
 That if I had beheld a man make merry, 
 
 Thou wouldst have seen me sprinkled o'er with pallor. 
 
 From my own sowing such the straw I reap ! 85 
 
 O human race ! why dost thou set thy heart 
 Where interdict of partnership must be? 
 
 This is Renier ; this is the boast and honor 
 
 Of the house of Calboli, where no one since 
 
 Has made himself the heir of his desert. 90 
 
88 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And not alone his blood is made devoid, 
 
 'Twixt Po and mount, and sea-shore and the Reno, 
 
 Of good required for truth and for diversion ; 
 For all within these boundaries is full 
 
 Of venomous roots, so that too tardily 95 
 
 By cultivation now would they diminish. 
 Where is good Lizio, and Arrigo Manardi, 
 
 Pier Traversaro, and Guido di Carpigna, 
 
 O Romagnuoli into bastards turned ? 
 When in Bologna will a Fabbro rise ? 100 
 
 When in Faenza a Bernardin di Fosco, 
 
 The noble scion of ignoble seed ? 
 Be not astonished, Tuscan, if I weep, 
 
 When I remember, with Guido da Prata, 
 
 Ugolin d' Azzo, who was living with us, 105 
 
 Frederick Tignoso and his company, 
 
 The house of Traversara, and th' Anastagi, 
 
 And one race and the other is extinct ; 
 The dames and cavaliers, the toils and ease 
 
 That filled our souls with love and courtesy, no 
 
 There where the hearts have so malicious grown ! 
 O Brettinoro ! why dost thou not flee, 
 
 Seeing that all thy family is gone, 
 
 And many people, not to be corrupted ? 
 
Ptcrgatorio xiv. 89 
 
 Bagnacaval does well in not begetting, "s 
 
 And ill does Castrocaro, and Conio worse, 
 In taking trouble to beget such Counts. 
 
 Will do well the Pagani, when their Devil 
 
 Shall have departed ; but not therefore pure 
 
 Will testimony of them e'er remain. 120 
 
 O Ugolin de' Fantoli, secure 
 
 Thy name is, since no longer is awaited 
 One who, degenerating, can obscure it ! 
 
 But go now, Tuscan, for it now delights me 
 
 To weep far better than it does to speak, 125 
 
 So much has our discourse my mind distressed." 
 
 We were aware that those beloved souls 
 
 Heard us depart; therefore, by keeping silent, 
 They made us of our pathway confident. 
 
 When we became alone by going onward, 130 
 
 Thunder, when it doth cleave the air, appeared 
 A voice, that counter to us came, exclaiming : 
 
 " Shall slay me whosoever findeth me ! " 
 And fled as the reverberation dies 
 If suddenly the cloud asunder bursts. 135 
 
 As soon as hearing had a truce from this, 
 Behold another, with so great a crash, 
 That it resembled thunderings following fast: 
 
90 The Divine Comedy 
 
 " I am Aglaurus, who became a stone ! " 
 
 And then, to press myself close to the Poet, 140 
 
 I backward, and not forward, took a step. 
 
 Already on all sides the air was quiet ; 
 
 And said he to me : " That was the hard curb 
 That ought to hold a man within his bounds ; 
 
 But you take in the bait so that the hook 145 
 
 Of the old Adversary draws you to him, 
 And hence availeth little curb or call. 
 
 The heavens are calling you, and wheel around you, 
 Displaying to you their eternal beauties, 
 And still your eye is looking on the ground ; 150 
 
 Whence He, who all discerns, chastises you." 
 
CANTO XV. 
 
 A S much as 'twixt the close of the third hour 
 And dawn of day appeareth of that sphere 
 Which aye in fashion of a child is playing, 
 
 So much it now appeared, towards the night, 
 
 Was of his course remaining to the sun ; s 
 
 There it was evening, and 't was midnight here ; 
 
 And the rays smote the middle of our faces, 
 Because by us the mount was so encircled, 
 That straight towards the west we now were going ; 
 
 When I perceived my forehead overpowered 10 
 
 Beneath the splendor far more than at first, 
 And stupor were to me the things unknown ; 
 
 Whereat towards the summit of my brow 
 
 I raised my hands, and made myself the visor 
 Which the excessive glare diminishes. 15 
 
 As when from off the water, or a mirror, 
 
 The sunbeam leaps unto the opposite side, 
 Ascending upward in the selfsame measure 
 
92 The Divine Comedy 
 
 That it descends, and deviates as far 
 
 From falling of a stone in line direct, ao 
 
 (As demonstrate experiment and art,) 
 So it appeared to me that by a light 
 
 Refracted there before me I was smitten ; 
 On which account my sight was swift to flee. 
 " What is that, Father sweet, from which I cannot 25 
 
 So fully screen my sight that it avail me," 
 Said I, " and seems towards us to be moving ? " 
 " Marvel thou not, if dazzle thee as yet 
 
 The family of heaven," he answered me ; 
 " An angel 't is, who comes to invite us upward. 30 
 Soon will it be, that to behold these things 
 
 Shall not be grievous, but delightful to thee 
 As much as nature fashioned thee to feel." 
 When we had reached the Angel benedight, 
 
 With joyful voice he said : " Here enter in 35 
 
 To stairway far less steep than are the others." 
 We mounting were, already thence departed, 
 And " Beati misericordes " was 
 Behind us sung, "Rejoice, thou that o'ercomest ! " 
 My master and myself, we two alone 40 
 
 Were going upward, and I thought, in going, 
 Some profit to acquire from words of his ; 
 
Purgatorio xv. 93 
 
 <^ 
 
 And I to him directed me, thus asking : 
 
 " What did the spirit of Romagna mean, 
 Mentioning interdict and partnership ? " 45 
 
 Whence he to me : " Of his own greatest failing 
 
 He knows the harm ; and therefore wonder not 
 If he reprove us, that we less may rue it. 
 
 Because are thither pointed your desires 
 
 Where by companionship each share is lessened, 50 
 Envy doth ply the bellows to your sighs. 
 
 But if the love of the supernal sphere 
 
 Should upwardly direct your aspiration, 
 
 There would not be that fear within your breast ; 
 
 For there, as much the more as one says Our, 55 
 
 So much the more of good each one possesses, 
 And more of charity in that cloister burns." 
 
 " I am more hungering to be satisfied," 
 
 I said, " than if I had before been silent, 
 
 And more of doubt within my mind I gather. 60 
 
 How can it be, that boon distributed 
 
 The more possessors can more wealthy make 
 Therein, than if by few it be possessed ? " 
 
 And he to me : " Because thou fixest still 
 
 Thy mind entirely upon earthly things, e 5 
 
 Thou pluckest darkness from the very light. 
 
94 The Divine Comedy 
 
 That goodness infinite and ineffable 
 
 Which is above there, runneth unto love, 
 As to a lucid body comes the sunbeam. 
 
 So much it gives itself as it finds ardor, 7° 
 
 So that as far as charity extends, 
 O'er it increases the eternal valor. 
 
 And the more people thitherward aspire, 
 
 More are there to love well, and more they love there, 
 And, as a mirror, one reflects the other. 75 
 
 And if my reasoning appease thee not, 
 
 Thou shalt see Beatrice ; and she will fully 
 Take from thee this and every other longing. 
 
 Endeavor, then, that soon may be extinct, 
 
 As are the two already, the five wounds 80 
 
 That close themselves again by being painful." 
 
 Even as I wished to say, " Thou dost appease me," 
 I saw that I had reached another circle, 
 So that my eager eyes made me keep silence. 
 
 There it appeared to me that in a vision s s 
 
 Ecstatic on a sudden I was rapt, 
 And in a temple many persons saw ; 
 
 And at the door a woman, with the sweet 
 Behavior of a mother, saying : " Son, 
 Why in this manner hast thou dealt with us ? 9° 
 
Ptcrgatorio xv. 95 
 
 Lo, sorrowing, thy father and myself 
 
 Were seeking for thee"; — and as here she ceased, 
 That which appeared at first had disappeared. 
 
 Then I beheld another with those waters 
 
 Adown her cheeks which grief distils whenever 95 
 From great disdain of others it is born, 
 
 And saying : " If of that city thou art lord, 
 
 For whose name was such strife among the gods, 
 And whence doth every science scintillate, 
 
 Avenge thyself on those audacious arms 100 
 
 That clasped our daughter, O Pisistratus " ; 
 And the lord seemed to me benign and mild 
 
 To answer her with aspect temperate : 
 
 " What shall we do to those who wish us ill, 
 
 If he who loves us be by us condemned ? " 105 
 
 Then saw I people hot in fire of wrath, 
 
 With stones a young man slaying, clamorously 
 Still crying to each other, " Kill him ! kill him ! " 
 
 And him I saw bow down, because of death 
 
 That weighed already on him, to the earth, no 
 
 But of his eyes made ever gates to heaven, 
 
 Imploring the high Lord, in so great strife, 
 
 That he would pardon those his persecutors, 
 With such an aspect as unlocks compassion. 
 
96 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Soon as my soul had outwardly returned 115 
 
 To things external to it which are true, 
 Did I my not false errors recognize. 
 
 My Leader, who could see me bear myself 
 
 Like to a man that rouses him from sleep, [stand? 
 Exclaimed: "What ails thee, that thou canst not 
 
 But hast been coming more than half a league 121 
 
 Veiling thine eyes, and with thy legs entangled, 
 In guise of one whom wine or sleep subdues ? " 
 
 " O my sweet Father, if thou listen to me, 
 
 I '11 tell thee," said I, " what appeared to me, 125 
 
 When thus from me my legs were ta'en away." 
 
 And he : " If thou shouldst have a hundred masks 
 Upon thy face, from me would not be shut 
 Thy cogitations, howsoever small. 
 
 What thou hast seen was that thou mayst not fail 130 
 To ope thy heart unto the waters of peace, 
 Which from the eternal fountain are diffused. 
 
 I did not ask, * What ails thee ? ' as he does 
 
 Who only looketh with the eyes that see not 
 When of the soul bereft the body lies, 135 
 
 But asked it to give vigor to thy feet ; 
 
 Thus must we needs urge on the sluggards, slow 
 To use their wakefulness when it returns." 
 
Pitrgatorio xv. 97 
 
 We passed along, athwart the twilight peering 
 
 Forward as far as ever eye could stretch 140 
 
 Against the sunbeams serotine and lucent; 
 
 And lo ! by slow degrees a smoke approached 
 In our direction, sombre as the night, 
 Nor was there place to hide one's self therefrom. 
 
 This of our eyes and the pure air bereft us. 145 
 
 13 
 
CANTO XVI. 
 
 "PjARKNESS of hell, and of a night deprived 
 Of every planet under a poor sky, 
 As much as may be tenebrous with cloud, 
 
 Ne'er made unto my sight so thick a veil, 
 
 As did that smoke which there enveloped us, s 
 
 Nor to the feeling of so rough a texture ; 
 
 For not an eye it suffered to stay open ; 
 
 Whereat mine escort, faithful and sagacious, 
 Drew near to me and offered me his shoulder. 
 
 E'en as a blind man goes behind his guide, 10 
 
 Lest he should wander, or should strike against 
 Aught that may harm or peradventure kill him, 
 
 So went I through the bitter and foul air, 
 
 Listening unto my Leader, who said only, 
 
 " Look that from me thou be not separated." is 
 
 Voices I heard, and every one appeared 
 
 To supplicate for peace and misericord 
 The Lamb of God who takes away our sins. 
 
Purgatorio xvi. 99 
 
 Still "Agnus Dei" their exordium was ; 
 
 One word there was in all, and metre one, *o 
 
 So that all harmony appeared among them. 
 
 " Master," I said, " are spirits those I hear ? " 
 
 And he to me : " Thou apprehendest truly, 
 And they the knot of anger go unloosing." 
 
 " Now who art thou, that cleavest through our smoke, ^ 
 And art discoursing of us even as though 
 Thou didst by calends still divide the time ? " 
 
 After this manner by a voice was spoken ; 
 
 Whereon my Master said : " Do thou reply, 
 
 And ask if on this side the way go upward." 30 
 
 And I : " O creature that dost cleanse thyself 
 
 To return beautiful to Him who made thee, 
 Thou shalt hear marvels if thou follow me." 
 
 " Thee will I follow far as is allowed me," 
 
 He answered ; " and if smoke prevent our seeing, 35 
 Hearing shall keep us joined instead thereof." 
 
 Thereon began I : " With that swathing band 
 
 Which death unwindeth am I going upward, 
 And hither came I through the infernal anguish. 
 
 And if God in his grace has me infolded, 40 
 
 So that he wills that I behold his court 
 By method wholly out of modern usage, 
 
ioo The Divine Comedy 
 
 Conceal not from me who ere death thou wast, 
 
 But tell it me, and tell me if I go 
 
 Right for the pass, and be thy words our escort." 45 
 " Lombard was I, and I was Marco called ; 
 
 The world I knew, and loved that excellence, 
 
 At which has each one now unbent his bow. 
 For mounting upward, thou art going right." 
 
 Thus he made answer, and subjoined : " I pray thee 
 
 To pray for me when thou shalt be above." 51 
 
 And I to him : " My faith I pledge to thee 
 
 To do what thou dost ask me ; but am bursting 
 
 Inly with doubt, unless I rid me of it. 
 First it was simple, and is now made double 55 
 
 By thy opinion, which makes certain to me, 
 
 Here and elsewhere, that which I couple with it. 
 The world forsooth is utterly deserted 
 
 By every virtue, as thou tellest me, 
 
 And with iniquity is big and covered ; 6 ° 
 
 But I beseech thee point me out the cause, 
 
 That I may see it, and to others show it ; 
 
 For one in the heavens, and here below one puts it." 
 A sigh profound, that grief forced into Ai ! 
 
 He first sent forth, and then began he : " Brother, 65 
 
 The world is blind, and sooth thou comest from it ! 
 
Ptcrgatorio xvl ioi 
 
 Ye who are living every cause refer 
 
 Still upward to the heavens, as if all things 
 They of necessity moved with themselves. 
 
 If this were so, in you would be destroyed 7° 
 
 Free will, nor any justice would there be 
 In having joy for good, or grief for evil. 
 
 The heavens your movements do initiate, 
 
 I say not all ; but granting that I say it, 
 
 Light has been given you for good and evil, 75 
 
 And free volition ; which, if some fatigue 
 
 In the first battles with the heavens it suffers, 
 Afterwards conquers all, if well 't is nurtured. 
 
 To greater force and to a better nature, 
 
 Though free, ye subject are, and that creates 80 
 
 The mind in you the heavens have not in charge. 
 
 Hence, if the present world doth go astray, 
 In you the cause is, be it sought in you ; 
 And I therein will now be thy true spy. 
 
 Forth from the hand of Him, who fondles it 85 
 
 Before it is, like to a little girl 
 Weeping and laughing in her childish sport, 
 
 Issues the simple soul, that nothing knows, 
 
 Save that, proceeding from a joyous Maker, 
 
 Gladly it turns to that which gives it pleasure. 9° 
 
102 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Of trivial good at first it tastes the savor; 
 Is cheated by it, and runs after it, 
 If guide or rein turn not aside its love. 
 
 Hence it behoved laws for a rein to place, 
 
 Behoved a king to have, who at the least 9s 
 
 Of the true city should discern the tower. 
 
 The laws exist, but who sets hand to them ? 
 
 No one ; because the shepherd who precedes 
 Can ruminate, but cleaveth not the hoof; 
 
 Wherefore the people that perceives its guide 100 
 
 Strike only at the good for which it hankers, 
 Feeds upon that, and farther seeketh not. 
 
 Clearly canst thou perceive that evil guidance 
 
 The cause is that has made the world depraved, 
 And not that nature is corrupt in you. 105 
 
 Rome, that reformed the world, accustomed was 
 
 Two suns to have, which one road and the other, 
 Of God and of the world, made manifest. 
 
 One has the other quenched, and to the crosier 
 
 The sword is joined, and ill beseemeth it no 
 
 That by main force one with the other go, 
 
 Because, being joined, one feareth not the other ; 
 If thou believe not, think upon the grain, 
 For by its seed each herb is recognized. 
 
Purgatorio xvi. 103 
 
 In the land laved by Po and Adige, n S 
 
 Valor and courtesy used to be found, 
 Before that Frederick had his controversy ; 
 
 Now in security can pass that way 
 
 Whoever will abstain, through sense of shame, 
 From speaking with the good, or drawing near them. 
 
 True, three old men are left, in whom upbraids m 
 
 The ancient age the new, and late they deem it 
 That God restore them to the better life : 
 
 Currado da Palazzo, and good Gherardo, 
 
 And Guido da Castel, who better named is, 125 
 
 In fashion of the French, the simple Lombard : 
 
 Say thou henceforward that the Church of Rome, 
 Confounding in itself two governments, 
 Falls in the mire, and soils itself and burden." 
 
 " O Marco mine," I said, " thou reasonest well ; 130 
 
 And now discern I why the sons of Levi 
 Have been excluded from the heritage. 
 
 But what Gherardo is it, who, as sample 
 
 Of a lost race, thou sayest has remained 
 
 In reprobation of the barbarous age ? " 135 
 
 " Either thy speech deceives me, or it tempts me," 
 He answered me; "for speaking Tuscan to me, 
 It seems of good Gherardo naught thou knowest. 
 
104 The Divine Comedy 
 
 By other surname do I know him not, 
 
 Unless I take it from his daughter Gaia. 140 
 
 May God be with you, for I come no farther. 
 
 Behold the dawn, that through the smoke rays out, 
 Already whitening ; and I must depart — 
 Yonder the Angel is — e'er he appear." 
 
 Thus did he speak, and would no farther hear me. 145 
 
CANTO XVII. 
 
 "D EMEMBER, Reader, if e'er in the Alps 
 
 A mist o'ertook thee, through which thou couldst see 
 Not otherwise than through its membrane mole, 
 
 How, when the vapors humid and condensed 
 
 Begin to dissipate themselves, the sphere 5 
 
 Of the sun feebly enters in among them, 
 
 And thy imagination will be swift 
 
 In coming to perceive how I re-saw 
 The sun at first, that was already setting. 
 
 Thus, to the faithful footsteps of my Master 10 
 
 Mating mine own, I issued from that cloud 
 To rays already dead on the low shores. 
 
 O thou, Imagination, that dost steal us 
 
 So from without sometimes, that man perceives not, 
 Although around may sound a thousand trumpets, 15 
 
 Who moveth thee, if sense impel thee not? 
 
 Moves thee a light, which in the heaven takes form, 
 - By self, or by a will that downward guides it. 
 »4 
 
106 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Of her impiety, who changed her form 
 
 Into the bird that most delights in singing, 20 
 
 In my imagining appeared the trace ; 
 
 And hereupon my mind was so withdrawn 
 
 Within itself, that from without there came 
 Nothing that then might be received by it. 
 
 Then rained within my lofty fantasy 25 
 
 One crucified, disdainful and ferocious 
 In countenance, and even thus was dying. 
 
 Around him were the great Ahasuerus, 
 
 Esther his wife, and the just Mordecai, 
 
 Who was in word and action so entire. 30 
 
 And even as this image burst asunder 
 
 Of its own self, in fashion of a bubble 
 In which the water it was made of fails, 
 
 There rose up in my vision a young maiden 
 
 Bitterly weeping, and she said : "O queen, 35 
 
 Why hast thou wished in anger to be naught ? 
 
 Thou 'st slain thyself, Lavinia not to lose ; 
 
 Now hast thou lost me ; I am she who mourns, 
 Mother, at thine ere at another's ruin." 
 
 As sleep is broken, when upon a sudden 4° 
 
 New light strikes in upon the eyelids closed, 
 And broken quivers e'er it dieth wholly, 
 
Pur gator io xvil 107 
 
 So this imagining of mine fell down 
 
 As soon as the effulgence smote my face, 
 
 Greater by far than what is in our wont. 45 
 
 I turned me round to see where I might be, 
 
 When said a voice, "Here is the passage up"; 
 Which from all other purposes removed me, 
 
 And made my wish so full of eagerness 
 
 To look and see who was it that was speaking, 50 
 It never rests till meeting face to face ; 
 
 But as before the sun, which quells the sight, 
 And in its own excess its figure veils, 
 Even so my power was insufficient here. 
 
 " This is a spirit divine, who in the way 55 
 
 Of going up directs us without asking, 
 And who with his own light himself conceals. 
 
 He does with us as man doth with himself; 
 
 For he who sees the need, and waits the asking, 
 Malignly leans already tow'rds denial. 60 
 
 Accord we now our feet to such inviting, 
 
 Let us make haste to mount ere it grow dark ; 
 For then we could not till the day return." 
 
 Thus my Conductor said ; and I and he 
 
 Together turned our footsteps to a stairway ; 65 
 
 And I, as soon as the first step I reached, 
 
108 The Divine Co7iiedy 
 
 Near me perceived a motion as of wings, > 
 
 And fanning in the face, and saying, " Beati 
 
 Pacifici, who are without ill anger." 
 Already over us were so uplifted 7° 
 
 The latest sunbeams, which the night pursues, 
 
 That upon many sides the stars appeared. 
 " O manhood mine, why dost thou vanish so ? " 
 
 I said within myself; for I perceived 
 
 The vigor of my legs was put in truce. 75 
 
 We at the point were where no more ascends 
 
 The stairway upward, and were motionless, 
 
 Even as a ship, which at the shore arrives ; 
 And I gave heed a little, if I might hear 
 
 Aught whatsoever in the circle new ; 80 
 
 Then to my Master turned me round and said : 
 " Say, my sweet Father, what delinquency 
 
 Is purged here in the circle where we are ? 
 
 Although our feet may pause, pause not thy speech." 
 And he to me : " The love of good, remiss 85 
 
 In what it should have done, is here restored ; 
 
 Here plied again the ill-belated oar ; 
 But still more openly to understand, 
 
 Turn unto me thy mind, and thou shalt gather 
 
 Some profitable fruit from our delay. 9° 
 
Purgatorio xvil 109 
 
 Neither Creator nor a creature ever, 
 
 Son," he began, " was destitute of love 
 Natural or spiritual ; and thou knowest it. 
 
 The natural was ever without error ; 
 
 But err the other may by evil object, 95 
 
 Or by too much, or by too little vigor. 
 
 While in the first it well directed is, 
 
 And in the second moderates itself, 
 
 It cannot be the cause of sinful pleasure; 
 
 But when to ill it turns, and, with more care 100 
 
 Or lesser than it ought, runs after good, 
 'Gainst the Creator works his own creation. 
 
 Hence thou mayst comprehend that love must be 
 The seed within yourselves of every virtue, 
 And every act that merits punishment. 105 
 
 Now inasmuch as never from the welfare 
 
 Of its own subject can love turn its sight, 
 From their own hatred all things are secure ; 
 
 And since we cannot think of any being 
 
 Standing alone, nor from the First divided, no 
 
 Of hating Him is all desire cut off. 
 
 Hence if, discriminating, I judge well, 
 
 The evil that one loves is of one's neighbor, 
 And this is born in three modes in your clay. 
 
1 1 o The Divine Comedy 
 
 There are, who, by abasement of their neighbor, 115 
 
 Hope to excel, and therefore only long 
 That from his greatness he may be cast down ; 
 
 There are, who power, grace, honor, and renown 
 Fear they may lose because another rises, 
 Thence are so sad that the reverse they love ; 120 
 
 And there are those whom injury seems to chafe, 
 So that it makes them greedy for revenge, 
 And such must needs shape out another's harm. 
 
 This threefold love is wept for down below; 
 
 Now of the other will I have thee hear, 125 
 
 That runneth after good with measure faulty. 
 
 Each one confusedly a good conceives 
 
 Wherein the mind may rest, and longeth for it ; 
 Therefore to overtake it each one strives. 
 
 If languid love to look on this attract you, 130 
 
 Or in attaining unto it, this cornice, 
 After just penitence, torments you for it. 
 
 There 's other good that does not make man happy ; 
 'T is not felicity, 't is not the good 
 Essence, of every good the fruit and root. 135 
 
 The love that yields itself too much to this 
 Above us is lamented in three circles ; 
 But how tripartite it may be described, 
 
 I say not, that thou seek it for thyself." 
 
CANTO XVIII. 
 
 \ N end had put unto his reasoning 
 
 The lofty Teacher, and attent was looking 
 Into my face, if I appeared content ; 
 
 And I, whom a new thirst still goaded on, 
 
 Without was mute, and said within : " Perchance s 
 The too much questioning I make annoys him." 
 
 But that true Father, who had comprehended 
 The timid wish, that opened not itself, 
 By speaking gave me hardihood to speak. 
 
 Whence I : " My sight is, Master, vivified 10 
 
 So in thy light, that clearly I discern 
 Whate'er thy speech importeth or describes. 
 
 Therefore I thee entreat, sweet Father dear, 
 
 To teach me love, to which thou dost refer 
 
 Every good action and its contrary." is 
 
 " Direct," he said, " towards me the keen eyes 
 Of intellect, and clear will be to thee 
 The error of the blind, who would be leaders. 
 
1 1 2 The Divine Comedy 
 
 The soul, which is created apt to love, 
 
 Is mobile unto everything that pleases, *o 
 
 Soon as by pleasure she is waked to action. 
 Your apprehension from some real thing 
 
 An image draws, and in yourselves displays it, 
 
 So that it makes the soul turn unto it. 
 And if, when turned, towards it she incline, 25 
 
 Love is that inclination ; it is nature, 
 
 Which is by pleasure bound in you anew. 
 Then even as the fire doth upward move 
 
 By its own form, which to ascend is born, 
 
 Where longest in its matter it endures, 30 
 
 So comes the captive soul into desire, 
 
 Which is a motion spiritual, and ne'er rests 
 
 Until she doth enjoy the thing beloved. 
 Now may apparent be to thee how hidden 
 
 The truth is from those people, who aver 3s 
 
 All love is in itself a laudable thing ; 
 Because its matter may perchance appear 
 
 Aye to be good ; but yet not each impression 
 
 Is good, albeit good may be the wax." 
 " Thy words, and my sequacious intellect," 40 
 
 I answered him, " have love revealed to me ; 
 
 But that has made me more impregned with doubt ; 
 
Pur 'gator *ib xviil 113 
 
 For if love from without be offered us, 
 
 And with another foot the soul go not, 
 
 If right or wrong she go, 't is not her merit." 45 
 
 And he to me : " What reason seeth here, 
 Myself can tell thee ; beyond that await 
 For Beatrice, since 't is a work of faith. 
 
 Every substantial form, that segregate 
 
 From matter is, and with it is united, s° 
 
 Specific power has in itself collected, 
 
 Which without act is not perceptible, 
 
 Nor shows itself except by its effect, 
 
 As life does in a plant by the green leaves. 
 
 But still, whence cometh the intelligence 55 
 
 Of the first notions, man is ignorant, 
 And the affection for the first allurements, 
 
 Which are in you as instinct in the bee 
 
 To make its honey ; and this first desire 
 
 Merit of praise or blame containeth not. 60 
 
 Now, that to this all others may be gathered, 
 
 Innate within you is the power that counsels, 
 And it should keep the threshold of assent. 
 
 This is the principle, from which is taken 
 
 Occasion of desert in you, according 65 
 
 As good and guilty loves it takes and winnows. 
 15 
 
1 1 4 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Those who, in reasoning, to the bottom went, 
 Were of this innate liberty aware, 
 Therefore bequeathed they Ethics to the world. 
 
 Supposing, then, that from necessity 70 
 
 Springs every love that is within you kindled, 
 Within yourselves the power is to restrain it. 
 
 The noble virtue Beatrice understands 
 
 By the free will ; and therefore see that thou 
 
 Bear it in mind, if she should speak of it." 75 
 
 The moon, belated almost unto midnight, 
 
 Now made the stars appear to us more rare, 
 Formed like a bucket, that is all ablaze, 
 
 And counter to the heavens ran through those paths 
 
 Which the sun sets aflame, when he of Rome 80 
 
 Sees it 'twixt Sardes and Corsicans go down ; 
 
 And that patrician shade, for whom is named 
 Pietola more than any Mantuan town, 
 Had laid aside the burden of my lading; 
 
 Whence I, who reason manifest and plain 85 
 
 In answer to my questions had received, 
 Stood like a man in drowsy revery. 
 
 But taken from me was this drowsiness 
 Suddenly by a people, that behind 
 Our backs already had come round to us. 9° 
 
Purgatorio xvm. 1 1 5 
 
 And as, of old, Ismenus and Asopus 
 
 Beside them saw at night the rush and throng, 
 If but the Thebans were in need of Bacchus, 
 
 So they along that circle curve their step, 
 
 From what I saw of those approaching us, 95 
 
 Who by good-will and righteous love are ridden. 
 
 Full soon they were upon us, because running 
 Moved onward all that mighty multitude, 
 And two in the advance cried out, lamenting, 
 
 " Mary in haste unto the mountain ran, i°° 
 
 And Cassar, that he might subdue Ilerda, 
 Thrust at Marseilles, and then ran into Spain." 
 
 "Quick ! quick ! so that the time may not be lost 
 By little love ! " forthwith the others cried, 
 " For ardor in well-doing freshens grace ! " io 5 
 
 " O folk, in whom an eager fervor now 
 
 Supplies perhaps delay and negligence, 
 
 Put by you in well-doing, through lukewarmness, 
 
 This one who lives, and truly I lie not, 
 
 Would fain go up, if but the sun relight us; no 
 
 So tell us where the passage nearest is." 
 
 These were the words of him who was my Guide ; 
 And some one of those spirits said : " Come on 
 Behind us, and the opening shalt thou find ; 
 
1 1 6 The Divine Comedy 
 
 So full of longing are we to move onward, us 
 
 That stay we cannot ; therefore pardon us, 
 If thou for churlishness our justice take. 
 I was San Zeno's Abbot at Verona, 
 
 Under the empire of good Barbarossa, 
 Of whom still sorrowing Milan holds discourse ; 120 
 And he has one foot in the grave already, 
 
 Who shall erelong lament that monastery, 
 And sorry be of having there had power, 
 Because his son, in his whole body sick, 
 
 And worse in mind, and who was evil-born, ^5 
 
 He put into the place of its true pastor." 
 If more he said, or silent was, I know not, 
 He had already passed so far beyond us ; 
 But this I heard, and to retain it pleased me. 
 And he who was in every need my succor 13° 
 
 Said : " Turn thee hitherward ; see two of them 
 Come fastening upon slothfulness their teeth." 
 In rear of all they shouted : " Sooner were 
 
 The people dead to whom the sea was opened, 
 Than their inheritors the Jordan saw; 135 
 
 And those who the fatigue did not endure 
 Unto the issue, with Anchises' son, 
 Themselves to life withouten glory offered." 
 
Purgatorio xvm. 1 1 7 
 
 Then when from us so separated were 
 
 Those shades, that they no longer could be seen, 140 
 
 Within me a new thought did entrance find, 
 Whence others many and diverse were born ; 
 
 And so I lapsed from one into another, 
 
 That in a reverie mine eyes I closed, 
 And meditation into dream transmuted. hs 
 
CANTO XIX. 
 
 TT was the hour when the diurnal heat 
 
 No more can warm the coldness of the moon, 
 Vanquished by earth, or peradventure Saturn, 
 
 When geomancers their Fortuna Major 
 
 See in the orient before the dawn s 
 
 Rise by a path that long remains not dim, 
 
 There came to me in dreams a stammering woman, 
 Squint in her eyes, and in her feet distorted, 
 With hands dissevered, and of sallow hue. 
 
 I looked at her ; and as the sun restores »° 
 
 The frigid members, which the night benumbs, 
 Even thus my gaze did render voluble 
 
 Her tongue, and made her all erect thereafter 
 In little while, and the lost countenance 
 As love desires it so in her did color. 15 
 
 When in this wise she had her speech unloosed, 
 She 'gan to sing so, that with difficulty 
 Could I have turned my thoughts away from her. 
 
Purgatorio xix. 1 1 9 
 
 " I am," she sang, " I am the Siren sweet 
 
 Who mariners amid the main unman, *° 
 
 So full am I of pleasantness to hear. 
 
 I drew Ulysses from his wandering way 
 
 Unto my song, and he who dwells with me 
 Seldom departs, so wholly I content him." 
 
 Her mouth was not yet closed again, before *s 
 
 Appeared a Lady saintly and alert 
 Close at my side to put her to confusion. 
 
 " Virgilius, O Virgilius ! who is this ? " 
 
 Sternly she said ; and he was drawing near 
 
 With eyes still fixed upon that modest one. 3° 
 
 She seized the other and in front laid open, 
 
 Rending her garments, and her belly showed me; 
 This waked me with the stench that issued from it. 
 
 I turned mine eyes, and good Virgilius said : 
 
 "At least thrice have I called thee; rise and come; 35 
 Find we the opening by which thou mayst enter." 
 
 I rose ; and full already of high day 
 
 Were all the circles of the Sacred Mountain, 
 And with the new sun at our back we went. 
 
 Following behind him, I my forehead bore 40 
 
 Like unto one who has it laden with thought, 
 Who makes himself the half arch of a bridge, 
 
120 The Divine Comedy 
 
 When I heard say, " Come, here the passage is," 
 Spoken in a manner gentle and benign, 
 Such as we hear not in this mortal region. 45" 
 
 With open wings, which of a swan appeared, 
 
 Upward he turned us who thus spake to us, 
 Between the two walls of the solid granite. 
 
 He moved his pinions afterwards and fanned us, 
 
 Affirming those qui lugent to be blessed, s° 
 
 For they shall have their souls with comfort filled. 
 
 " What aileth thee, that aye to earth thou gazest ? " 
 To me my Guide began to say, we both 
 Somewhat beyond the Angel having mounted. 
 
 And I : "With such misgiving makes me go 55 
 
 A vision new, which bends me to itself, 
 So that I cannot from the thought withdraw me." 
 
 " Didst thou behold," he said, " that old enchantress, 
 Who sole above us henceforth is lamented ? 
 Didst thou behold how man is freed from her ? 60 
 
 Suffice it thee, and smite earth with thy heels, 
 
 Thine eyes lift upward to the lure, that whirls 
 The Eternal King with revolutions vast." 
 
 Even as the hawk, that first his feet surveys, 
 
 Then turns him to the call and stretches forward, 65 
 Through the desire of food that draws him thither, 
 
Ptcrgatorio xix. 121 
 
 Such I became, and such, as far as cleaves 
 
 The rock to give a way to him who mounts, 
 Went on to where the circling doth begin. 
 
 On the fifth circle when I had come forth, 70 
 
 People I saw upon it who were weeping, 
 Stretched prone upon the ground, all downward turned. 
 
 "Adhcesit pavimento anima me a" 
 
 I heard them say with sighings so profound, 
 
 That hardly could the words be understood. 75 
 
 " O ye elect of God, whose sufferings 
 
 Justice and Hope both render less severe, 
 Direct ye us towards the high ascents." 
 
 " If ye are come secure from this prostration, 
 
 And wish to find the way most speedily, 80 
 
 Let your right hands be evermore outside." 
 
 Thus did the Poet ask, and thus was answered 
 
 By them somewhat in front of us ; whence I 
 In what was spoken divined the rest concealed, 
 
 And unto my Lord's eyes mine eyes I turned ; «s 
 
 Whence he assented with a cheerful sign 
 To what the sight of my desire implored. 
 
 When of myself I could dispose at will, 
 
 Above that creature did I draw myself, 
 
 Whose words before had caused me to take note, 90 
 16 
 
122 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Saying : " O Spirit, in whom weeping ripens 
 
 That without which to God we cannot turn, 
 Suspend awhile for me thy greater care. 
 
 Who wast thou, and why are your backs turned upwards, 
 Tell me, and if thou wouldst that I procure thee 95 
 Anything there whence living I departed." 
 
 And he to me : " Wherefore our backs the heaven 
 Turns to itself, know shalt thou ; but beforehand 
 Scias quod ego fui successor Petri. 
 
 Between Siestri and Chiaveri descends 100 
 
 A river beautiful, and of its name 
 The title of my blood its summit makes. 
 
 A month and little more essayed I how [it ; 
 
 Weighs the great cloak on him from mire who keeps 
 For all the other burdens seem a feather. i°s 
 
 Tardy, ah woe is me ! was my conversion ; 
 
 But when the Roman Shepherd I was made, 
 Then I discovered life to be a lie. 
 
 I saw that there the heart was not at rest, 
 
 Nor farther in that life could one ascend ; "° 
 
 Whereby the love of this was kindled in me. 
 
 Until that time a wretched soul and parted 
 From God was I, and wholly avaricious ; 
 Now, as thou seest, I here am punished for it. 
 
Pur gator io xix. 123 
 
 What avarice does is here made manifest us 
 
 In the purgation of these souls converted, 
 And no more bitter pain the Mountain has. 
 
 Even as our eye did not uplift itself 
 
 Aloft, being fastened upon earthly things, 
 
 So justice here has merged it in the earth. i*o 
 
 As avarice had extinguished our affection 
 
 For every good, whereby was action lost, 
 So justice here doth hold us in restraint, 
 
 Bound and imprisoned by the feet and hands ; 
 
 And so long as it pleases the just Lord 125 
 
 Shall we remain immovable and prostrate." 
 
 I on my knees had fallen, and wished to speak ; 
 But even as I began, and he was 'ware, 
 Only by listening, of my reverence, 
 
 " What cause," he said, " has downward bent thee thus ? " 
 And I to him : " For your own dignity, 131 
 
 Standing, my conscience stung me with remorse." 
 
 "Straighten thy legs, and upward raise thee, brother," 
 He answered : " Err not, fellow-servant am I 
 With thee and with the others to one power. 135 
 
 If e'er that holy, evangelic sound, 
 
 Which sayeth neque nubent, thou hast heard, 
 Well canst thou see why in this wise I speak. 
 
124 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Now go; no longer will I have thee linger, 
 
 Because thy stay doth incommode my weeping, ho 
 With which I ripen that which thou hast said. 
 
 On earth I have a grandchild named Alagia, 
 Good in herself, unless indeed our house 
 Malevolent may make her by example, 
 
 And she alone remains to me on earth." hs 
 
CANTO XX. 
 
 TLL strives the will against a better will ; 
 
 Therefore, to pleasure him, against my pleasure 
 I drew the sponge not saturate from the water. 
 
 Onward I moved, and onward moved my Leader, 
 
 Through vacant places, skirting still the rock, s 
 
 As on a wall close to the battlements; 
 
 For they that through their eyes pour drop by drop 
 The malady which all the world pervades, 
 On the other side too near the verge approach. 
 
 Accursed mayst thou be, thou old she-wolf, 10 
 
 That more than all the other beasts hast prey, 
 Because of hunger infinitely hollow ! 
 
 O heaven, in whose gyrations some appear 
 
 To think conditions here below are changed, 
 When will he come through whom she shall depart ? 15 
 
 Onward we went with footsteps slow and scarce, 
 And I attentive to the shades I heard 
 Piteously weeping and bemoaning them ; 
 
126 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And I by peradventure heard "Sweet Mary!" 
 
 Uttered in front of us amid the weeping 20 
 
 Even as a woman does who is in child-birth ; 
 
 And in continuance : " How poor thou wast 
 Is manifested by that hostelry 
 Where thou didst lay thy sacred burden down." 
 
 Thereafterward I heard : " O good Fabricius, 25 
 
 Virtue with poverty didst thou prefer 
 To the possession of great wealth with vice." 
 
 So pleasurable were these words to me 
 
 That I drew farther onward to have knowledge 
 Touching that spirit whence they seemed to come. 
 
 He furthermore was speaking of the largess 31 
 
 Which Nicholas unto the maidens gave, 
 In order to conduct their youth to honor. 
 
 " O soul that dost so excellently speak, 
 
 Tell me who wast thou," said I, " and why only 3s 
 Thou dost renew these praises well deserved ? 
 
 Not without recompense shall be thy word, 
 If I return to finish the short journey 
 Of that life which is flying to its end." 
 
 And he : "I '11 tell thee, not for any comfort 40 
 
 I may expect from earth, but that so much 
 Grace shines in thee or ever thou art dead. 
 
Purgatorio xx 127 
 
 I was the root of that malignant plant 
 
 Which overshadows all the Christian world, 
 
 So that good fruit is seldom gathered from it ; 45 
 
 But if Douay and Ghent and Lille and Bruges 
 
 Had power, soon vengeance would be taken on it ; 
 And this I pray of Him who judges all. 
 
 Hugh Capet was I called upon the earth ; 
 
 From me were born the Louises and Philips, 5° 
 
 By whom in later days has France been governed. 
 
 I was the son of a Parisian butcher, 
 
 What time the ancient kings had perished all, 
 Excepting one, contrite in cloth of gray. 
 
 I found me grasping in my hands the rein 55 
 
 Of the realm's government, and so great power 
 Of new acquest, and so with friends abounding, 
 
 That to the widowed diadem promoted 
 
 The head of mine own offspring was, from whom 
 The consecrated bones of these began. 60 
 
 So long as the great dowry of Provence 
 
 Out of my blood took not the sense of shame, 
 'T was little worth, but still it did no harm. 
 
 Then it began with falsehood and with force 
 
 Its rapine ; and thereafter, for amends, 65 
 
 Took Ponthieu, Normandy, and Gascony. 
 
128 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Charles came to Italy, and for amends 
 
 A victim made of Conradin, and then 
 Thrust Thomas back to heaven, for amends. 
 
 A time I see, not very distant now, 70 
 
 Which draweth forth another Charles from France, 
 The better to make known both him and his. 
 
 Unarmed he goes, and only with the lance 
 
 That Judas jousted with ; and that he thrusts 
 
 So that he makes the paunch of Florence burst. 75 
 
 He thence not land, but sin and infamy, 
 
 Shall gain, so much more grievous to himself 
 As the more light such damage he accounts. 
 
 The other, now gone forth, ta'en in his ship, 
 
 See I his daughter sell, and chaffer for her 80 
 
 As corsairs do with other female slaves. 
 
 What more, O Avarice, canst thou do to us, 
 
 Since thou my blood so to thyself hast drawn, 
 It careth not for its own proper flesh ? 
 
 That less may seem the future ill and past, s s 
 
 I see the flower-de-luce Alagna enter, 
 And Christ in his own Vicar captive made. 
 
 I see him yet another time derided ; 
 
 I see renewed the vinegar and gall, 
 
 And between living thieves I see him slain. 90 
 
Purgatorio xx. 129 
 
 I see the modern Pilate so relentless, 
 
 This does not sate him, but without decretal 
 He to the temple bears his sordid sails ! 
 
 When, O my Lord ! shall I be joyful made 
 
 By looking on the vengeance which, concealed, 95 
 Makes sweet thine anger in thy secrecy ? 
 
 What I was saying of that only bride 
 
 Of the Holy Ghost, and which occasioned thee 
 To turn towards me for some commentary, 
 
 So long has been ordained to all our prayers 100 
 
 As the day lasts; but when the night comes on, 
 Contrary sound we take instead thereof. 
 
 At that time we repeat Pygmalion, 
 
 Of whom a traitor, thief, and parricide 
 
 Made his insatiable desire of gold ; 105 
 
 And the misery of avaricious Midas, 
 
 That followed his inordinate demand, 
 
 At which forevermore one needs must laugh. 
 
 The foolish Achan each one then records, 
 
 And how he stole the spoils; so that the wrath no 
 Of Joshua still appears to sting him here. 
 
 Then we accuse Sapphira with her husband, 
 We laud the hoof-beats Heliodorus had, 
 And the whole mount in infamy encircles 
 17 
 
130 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Polymnestor who murdered Polydorus. 115 
 
 Here finally is cried : ' O Crassus, tell us, 
 For thou dost know, what is the taste of gold ? ' 
 
 Sometimes we speak, one loud, another low, 
 
 According to desire of speech, that spurs us 
 
 To greater now and now to lesser pace. 120 
 
 But in the good that here by day is talked of, 
 Erewhile alone I was not ; yet near by 
 No other person lifted up his voice." 
 
 From him already we departed were, 
 
 And made endeavor to o'ercome the road 1*5 
 
 As much as was permitted to our power, 
 
 When I perceived, like something that is falling, 
 
 The mountain tremble, whence a chill seized on me, 
 As seizes him who to his death is going. 
 
 Certes so violently shook not Delos, 130 
 
 Before Latona made her nest therein 
 To give birth to the two eyes of the heaven. 
 
 Then upon all sides there began a cry, 
 
 Such that the Master drew himself towards me, 
 Saying, " Fear not, while I am guiding thee." 13s 
 
 " Gloria in excelsis Deo," all 
 
 Were saying, from what near I comprehended, 
 Where it was possible to hear the cry. 
 
Ptirgatorio £x. 131 
 
 We paused immovable and in suspense, 
 
 Even as the shepherds who first heard that song, 140 
 Until the trembling ceased, and it was finished. 
 
 Then we resumed again our holy path, 
 
 Watching the shades that lay upon the ground, 
 Already turned to their accustomed plaint. 
 
 No ignorance ever with so great a strife us 
 
 Had rendered me importunate to know, 
 If erreth not in this my memory, 
 
 As meditating then I seemed to have; 
 
 Nor out of haste to question did I dare, 
 
 Nor of myself I there could aught perceive; 15° 
 
 So I went onward timorous and thoughtful. 
 
CANTO XXI. 
 
 nPHE natural thirst, that ne'er is satisfied 
 
 Excepting with the water for whose grace 
 The woman of Samaria besought, 
 
 Put me in travail, and haste goaded me 
 
 Along the encumbered path behind my Leader, 
 And I was pitying that righteous vengeance; 
 
 And lo ! in the same manner as Luke writeth 
 That Christ appeared to two upon the way 
 From the sepulchral cave already risen, 
 
 A shade appeared to us, and came behind us, 
 Down gazing on the prostrate multitude, 
 Nor were we ware of it, until it spake, 
 
 Saying, " My brothers, may God give you peace ! " 
 We turned us suddenly, and Virgilius rendered 
 To him the countersign thereto conforming. 
 
 Thereon began he : " In the blessed council, 
 
 Thee may the court veracious place in peace, 
 That me doth banish in eternal exile ! " 
 
 >5 
 
Purgatorio xxi. 133 
 
 " How," said he, and the while we went with speed, 
 
 "If ye are shades whom God deigns not on high, 20 
 Who up his stairs so far has guided you ? " 
 
 And said my Teacher : " If thou note the marks 
 
 Which this one bears, and which the Angel traces, 
 Well shalt thou see he with the good must reign. 
 
 But because she who spinneth day and night 25 
 
 For him had not yet drawn the distaff off, 
 Which Clotho lays for each one and compacts, 
 
 His soul, which is thy sister and my own, 
 
 In coming upwards could not come alone, 
 
 By reason that it sees not in our fashion. 3° 
 
 Whence I was drawn from out the ample throat 
 Of Hell to be his guide, and I shall guide him 
 As far on as my school has power to lead. 
 
 But tell us, if thou knowest, why such a shudder 
 
 Erewhile the mountain gave, and why together 35 
 All seemed to cry, as far as its moist feet ? " 
 
 In asking he so hit the very eye 
 
 Of my desire, that merely with the hope 
 My thirst became the less unsatisfied. 
 
 " Naught is there," he began, " that without order 40 
 
 May the religion of the mountain feel, 
 Nor aught that may be foreign to its custom. 
 
134 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Free is it here from every permutation ; 
 
 What from itself heaven in itself receiveth 
 
 Can be of this the cause, and naught beside ; 45 
 
 Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, 
 Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls 
 Than the short, little stairway of three steps. 
 
 Dense clouds do not appear, nor rarefied, 
 
 Nor coruscation, nor the daughter of Thaumas, s° 
 That often upon earth her region shifts; 
 
 No arid vapor any farther rises 
 
 Than to the top of the three steps I spake of, 
 Whereon the Vicar of Peter has his feet. 
 
 Lower down perchance it trembles less or more, 55 
 
 But, for the wind that in the earth is hidden 
 I know not how, up here it never trembled. 
 
 It trembles here, whenever any soul 
 
 Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves 
 
 To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it. 60 
 
 Of purity the will alone gives proof, 
 
 Which, being wholly free to change its convent, 
 Takes by surprise the soul, and helps it fly. 
 
 First it wills well ; but the desire permits not, 
 
 Which divine justice with the self-same will 6 5 
 
 There was to sin, upon the torment sets. 
 

 Pttrgatorio xxi. 135 
 
 And I, who have been lying in this pain 
 
 Five hundred years and more, but just now felt 
 A free volition for a better seat. 
 
 Therefore thou heardst the earthquake, and the pious 70 
 Spirits along the mountain rendering praise 
 Unto the Lord, that soon he speed them upwards." 
 
 So said he to him ; and since we enjoy 
 
 As much in drinking as the thirst is great, 
 
 I could not say how much it did me good. 75 
 
 And the wise Leader : " Now I see the net 
 
 That snares you here, and how ye are set free, 
 Why the earth quakes, and wherefore ye rejoice. 
 
 Now who thou wast be pleased that I may know; 
 
 And why so many centuries thou hast here 80 
 
 Been lying, let me gather from thy words." 
 
 " In days when the good Titus, with the aid 
 
 Of the supremest King, avenged the wounds 
 Whence issued forth the blood by Judas sold, 
 
 Under the name that most endures and honors, 85 
 
 Was I on earth," that spirit made reply, 
 " Greatly renowned, but not with faith as yet. 
 
 My vocal spirit was so sweet, that Rome 
 Me, a Thoulousian, drew unto herself, 
 Where I deserved to deck my brows with myrtle. 9° 
 
136 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Statius the people name me still on earth ; 
 
 I sang of Thebes, and then of great Achilles; 
 But on the way fell with my second burden. 
 
 The seeds unto my ardor were the sparks 
 
 Of that celestial flame which heated me, 95 
 
 Whereby more than a thousand have been fired; 
 
 Of the iEneid speak I, which to me 
 
 A mother was, and was my nurse in song ; 
 Without this weighed I not a drachma's weight. 
 
 And to have lived upon the earth what time 100 
 
 Virgilius lived, I would accept one sun 
 More than I must ere issuing from my ban.'* 
 
 These words towards me made Virgilius turn 
 
 With looks that in their silence said, " Be silent ! " 
 But yet the power that wills cannot do all things; 105 
 
 For tears and laughter are such pursuivants 
 
 Unto the passion from which each springs forth, 
 In the most truthful least the will they follow. 
 
 I only smiled, as one who gives the wink ; 
 
 Whereat the shade was silent, and it gazed no 
 
 Into mine eyes, where most expression dwells ; 
 
 And, "As thou well mayst consummate a labor 
 
 So great," it said, "why did thy face just now 
 Display to me the lightning of a smile ? " 
 
Purgatorio xxi. 137 
 
 Now am I caught on this side and on that ; 115 
 
 One keeps me silent, one to speak conjures me, 
 Wherefore I sigh, and I am understood. 
 
 "Speak," said my Master, "and be not afraid 
 Of speaking, but speak out, and say to him 
 What he demands with such solicitude." 120 
 
 Whence I : " Thou peradventure marvellest, 
 O antique spirit, at the smile I gave ; 
 But I will have more wonder seize upon thee. 
 
 This one a who guides on high these eyes of mine, 
 
 Is that Virgilius, from whom thou didst learn 125 
 To sing aloud of men and of the Gods. 
 
 If other cause thou to my smile imputedst, 
 Abandon it as false, and trust it was 
 Those words which thou hast spoken concerning him." 
 
 Already he was stooping to embrace 130 
 
 My Teacher's feet ; but he said to him : " Brother, 
 Do not ; for shade thou art, and shade beholdest." 
 
 And he uprising : " Now canst thou the sum 
 
 Of love which warms me to thee comprehend, 
 When this our vanity I disremember, 13s 
 
 Treating a shadow as substantial thing." 
 
 18 
 
, CANTO XXII. 
 
 A LREADY was the Angel left behind us, 
 
 The Angel who to the sixth round had turned us, 
 Having erased one mark from off my face ; 
 
 And those who have in justice their desire 
 
 Had said to us, " Beati" in their voices, 5 
 
 With " sitio" and without more ended it. 
 
 And I, more light than through the other passes, 
 Went onward so, that without any labor 
 I followed upward the swift-footed spirits ; 
 
 When thus Virgilius began : "The love 10 
 
 Kindled by virtue aye another kindles, 
 Provided outwardly its flame appear 
 
 Hence from. the hour that Juvenal descended 
 Among us into the infernal Limbo, 
 Who made apparent to me thy affection, 15 
 
 My kindliness towards thee was as great 
 
 As ever bound one to an unseen person, 
 
 So that these stairs will now seem short to me. 
 
Pur gator io xxn. 139 
 
 But tell me, and forgive me as a friend, 
 
 If too great confidence let loose the rein, 20 
 
 And as a friend now hold discourse with me ; 
 
 How was it possible within thy breast 
 
 For avarice to find place, 'mid so much wisdom 
 As thou wast filled with by thy diligence ? " 
 
 These words excited Statius at first 25 
 
 Somewhat to laughter; afterward he answered: 
 " Each word of thine is love's dear sign to me. 
 
 Verily oftentimes do things appear 
 
 Which give fallacious matter to our doubts, 
 Instead of the true causes which are hidden ! 3° 
 
 Thy question shows me thy belief to be 
 That I was niggard in the other life, 
 It may be from the circle where I was ; 
 
 Therefore know thou, that avarice was removed 
 
 Too far from me ; and this extravagance 35 
 
 Thousands of lunar periods have punished. 
 
 And were it not that I my thoughts uplifted, 
 
 When I the passage heard where thou exclaimest, 
 As if indignant, unto human nature, 
 
 * To what impellest thou not, O cursed hunger 4° 
 
 Of gold, the appetite of mortal men?' 
 Revolving I should feel the dismal joustings. 
 
140 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Then I perceived the hands could spread too wide 
 Their wings in spending, and repented me 
 As well of that as of my other sins ; 45 
 
 How many with shorn hair shall rise again 
 Because of ignorance, which from this sin 
 Cuts off repentance living and in death! 
 
 And know that the transgression which rebuts 
 
 By direct opposition any sin s° 
 
 Together with it here its verdure dries. 
 
 Therefore if I have been among that folk 
 Which mourns its avarice, to purify me, 
 For its opposite has this befallen me." 
 
 " Now when thou sangest the relentless weapons 55 
 
 Of the twofold affliction of Jocasta," 
 The singer of the Songs Bucolic said, 
 
 "From that which Clio there with thee preludes, 
 It does not seem that yet had made thee faithful 
 That faith without which no good works suffice. 60 
 
 If this be so, what candles or what sun 
 
 Scattered thy darkness so that thou didst trim 
 Thy sails behind the Fisherman thereafter ? " 
 
 And he to him : " Thou first directedst me 
 
 Towards Parnassus, in its grots to drink, 65 
 
 And first concerning God didst me enlighten. 
 
Purgatorio xxil 141 
 
 Thou didst as he who walketh in the night, 
 
 Who bears his light behind, which helps him not, 
 But maketh wise the persons after him, 
 
 When thou didst say: 'The age renews itself, 70 
 
 Justice returns, and man's primeval time, 
 And a new progeny descends from heaven.' 
 
 Through thee I Poet was, through thee a Christian ; 
 But that thou better see what I design, 
 To color it will I extend my hand. 75 
 
 Already was the world in every part 
 
 Pregnant with the true creed, disseminated 
 By messengers of the eternal kingdom ; 
 
 And thy assertion, spoken of above, 
 
 With the new preachers was in unison ; 80 
 
 Whence I to visit them the custom took. 
 
 Then they became so holy in my sight, 
 
 That, when Domitian persecuted them, 
 
 Not without tears of mine were their laments; 
 
 And all the while that I on earth remained, 85 
 
 Them I befriended, and their upright customs 
 Made me disparage all the other sects. 
 
 And ere I led the Greeks unto the rivers 
 Of Thebes, in poetry, I was baptized, 
 But out of fear was covertly a Christian, 90 
 
142 The Divine Comedy 
 
 For a long time professing paganism ; 
 
 And this lukewarmness caused me the fourth circle 
 
 To circuit round more than four centuries. 
 Thou, therefore, who hast raised the covering 
 
 That hid from me whatever good I speak of, 95 
 
 While in ascending we have time to spare, 
 Tell me, in what place is our friend Terentius, 
 
 Cscilius, Plautus, Varro, if thou knowest ; 
 
 Tell me if they are damned, and in what alley." 
 "These, Persius and myself, and others many," 100 
 
 Replied my Leader, "with that Grecian are 
 
 Whom more than all the rest the Muses suckled, 
 In the first circle of the prison blind ; 
 
 Ofttimes we of the mountain hold discourse 
 
 Which has our nurses ever with itself. 105 
 
 Euripides is with us, Antiphon, 
 
 Simonides, Agatho, and many other 
 
 Greeks who of old their brows with laurel decked. 
 There some of thine own people may be seen, 
 
 Antigone, Deiphile and Argia, «o 
 
 And there Ismene mournful as of old. 
 There she is seen who pointed out Langia ; 
 
 There is Tiresias 5 daughter, and there Thetis, 
 
 And there Deidamia with her sisters," 
 
Pttrgatorio xxil 143 
 
 Silent already were the poets both, 115 
 
 Attent once more in looking round about, 
 From the ascent and from the walls released ; 
 
 And four handmaidens of the day already 
 
 Were left behind, and at the pole the fifth 
 
 Was pointing upward still its burning horn, 120 
 
 What time my Guide : " I think that tow'rds the edge 
 Our dexter shoulders it behoves us turn, 
 Circling the mount as we are wont to do." 
 
 Thus in that region custom was our ensign ; 
 
 And we resumed our way with less suspicion 125 
 
 For the assenting of that worthy soul. 
 
 They in advance went on, and I alone 
 
 Behind them, and I listened to their speech, 
 Which gave me lessons in the art of song. 
 
 But soon their sweet discourses interrupted 130 
 
 A tree which midway in the road we found, 
 With apples sweet and grateful to the smell. 
 
 And even as a fir-tree tapers upward 
 
 From bough to bough, so downwardly did that ; 
 
 I think in order that no one might climb it. 135 
 
 On that side where our pathway was enclosed 
 Fell from the lofty rock a limpid water, 
 And spread itself abroad upon the leaves. 
 
144 The Divine Comedy 
 
 The Poets twain unto the tree drew near, 
 
 And from among the foliage a voice 140 
 
 Cried: "Of this food ye shall have scarcity." 
 Then said : " More thoughtful Mary was of making 
 
 The marriage feast complete and honorable, 
 
 Than of her mouth which now for you responds ; 
 And for their drink the ancient Roman women 145 
 
 With water were content ; and Daniel 
 
 Disparaged food, and understanding won. 
 The primal age was beautiful as gold ; 
 
 Acorns it made with hunger savorous, 
 
 And nectar every rivulet with thirst. 150 
 
 Honey and locusts were the aliments 
 
 That fed the Baptist in the wilderness ; 
 
 Whence he is glorious, and so magnified 
 As by the Evangel is revealed to you." 
 
CANTO XXIII. 
 
 HPHE while among the verdant leaves mine eyes 
 I riveted, as he is wont to do 
 Who wastes his life pursuing little birds, 
 
 My more than Father said unto me : " Son, 
 
 Come now; because the time that is ordained us 5 
 More usefully should be apportioned out." 
 
 I turned my face and no less soon my steps 
 Unto the Sages, who were speaking so 
 They made the going of no cost to me; 
 
 And lo ! were heard a song and a lament, 10 
 
 " Labia mea y Domine" in fashion 
 Such that delight and dolence it brought forth. 
 
 " O my sweet Father, what is this I hear ? " 
 
 Began I ; and he answered : " Shades that go 
 Perhaps the knot unloosing of their debt." 15 
 
 In the same way that thoughtful pilgrims do, 
 
 Who, unknown people on the road o'ertaking, 
 Turn themselves round to them, and do not stop, 
 l 9 
 
146 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Even thus, behind us with a swifter motion 
 
 Coming and passing onward, gazed upon us 20 
 
 A crowd of spirits silent and devout. 
 Each in his eyes was dark and cavernous, 
 
 Pallid in face, and so emaciate 
 
 That from the bones the skin did shape itself. 
 I do not think that so to merest rind 25 
 
 Could Erisichthon have been withered up 
 
 By famine, when most fear he had of it. 
 Thinking within myself I said : " Behold, 
 
 This is the folk who lost Jerusalem, 
 
 When Mary made a prey of her own son." 30 
 
 Their sockets were like rings without the gems ; 
 
 Whoever in the face of men reads omo 
 
 Might well in these have recognized the m. 
 Who would believe the odor of an apple, 
 
 Begetting longing, could consume them so, 3s 
 
 And that of water, without knowing how? 
 I still was wondering what so famished them, 
 
 For the occasion not yet manifest 
 
 Of their emaciation and sad squalor ; 
 And lo ! from out the hollow of his head 40 
 
 His eyes a shade turned on me, and looked keenly; 
 
 Then cried aloud: "What grace to me is this ? " 
 
Pur gator io xxiil 147 
 
 Never should I have known him by his look ; 
 
 But in his voice was evident to me 
 
 That which his aspect had suppressed within it. 45 
 This spark within me wholly re-enkindled 
 
 My recognition of his altered face, 
 
 And I recalled the features of Forese. 
 " Ah, do not look at this dry leprosy," 
 
 Entreated he, " which doth my skin discolor, 5° 
 
 Nor at default of flesh that I may have ; 
 But tell me truth of thee, and who are those 
 
 Two souls, that yonder make for thee an escort ; 
 
 Do not delay in speaking unto me." 
 " That face of thine, which dead I once bewept, 55 
 
 Gives me for weeping now no lesser grief," 
 
 I answered him, " beholding it so changed ! 
 But tell me, for God's sake, what thus denudes you ? 
 
 Make me not speak while I am marvelling, 
 
 For ill speaks he who 's full of other longings." 60 
 And he to me : " From the eternal council 
 
 Falls power into the water and the tree 
 
 Behind us left, whereby I grow so thin. 
 All of this people who lamenting sing, 
 
 For following beyond measure appetite 65 
 
 In hunger and thirst are here re-sanctified. 
 
1 48 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Desire to eat and drink enkindles in us 
 
 The scent that issues from the apple-tree, 
 
 And from the spray that sprinkles o'er the verdure; 
 
 And not a single time alone, this ground 70 
 
 Encircling, is renewed our pain, — 
 I say our pain, and ought to say our solace, — 
 
 For the same wish doth lead us to the tree 
 
 Which led the Christ rejoicing to say Eli, 
 
 When with his veins he liberated us." 75 
 
 And I to him : " Forese, from that day 
 
 When for a better life thou changedst worlds, 
 Up to this time five years have not rolled round. 
 
 If sooner were the power exhausted in thee 
 
 Of sinning more, than thee the hour surprised 80 
 
 Of that good sorrow which to God reweds us, 
 
 How hast thou come up hitherward already ? 
 
 I thought to find thee down there underneath, 
 Where time for time doth restitution make." 
 
 And he to me : " Thus speedily has led me 85 
 
 To drink of the sweet wormwood of these torments, 
 My Nella with her overflowing tears ; 
 
 She with her prayers devout and with her sighs 
 
 Has drawn me from the coast where one awaits, 
 And from the other circles set me free. 9° 
 
Purgatorio xxiil 149 
 
 So much more dear and pleasing is to God 
 
 My little widow, whom so much I loved, 
 As in good works she is the more alone ; 
 
 For the Barbagia of Sardinia 
 
 By far more modest in its women is 95 
 
 Than the Barbagia I have left her in. 
 
 O brother sweet, what wilt thou have me say ? 
 A future time is in my sight already, 
 To which this hour will not be very old, 
 
 When from the pulpit shall be interdicted 100 
 
 To the unblushing womankind of Florence 
 To go about displaying breast and paps. 
 
 What savages were e'er, what Saracens, 
 
 Who stood in need, to make them covered go, 
 
 Of spiritual or other discipline ? 105 
 
 But if the shameless women were assured 
 
 Of what swift Heaven prepares for them, already 
 Wide open would they have their mouths to howl ; 
 
 For if my foresight here deceive me not, 
 
 They shall be sad ere he has bearded cheeks no 
 
 Who now is hushed to sleep with lullaby. 
 
 O brother, now no longer hide thee from me; 
 See that not only I, but all these people 
 Are gazing there, where thou dost veil the sun." 
 
150 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Whence I to him : " If thou bring back to mind 115 
 
 What thou with me hast been and I with thee, 
 The present memory will be grievous still. 
 
 Out of that life he turned me back who goes 
 In front of me, two days agone when round 
 The sister of him yonder showed herself," i*o 
 
 And to the sun I pointed. " Through the deep 
 Night of the truly dead has this one led me, 
 With this true flesh, that follows after him. 
 
 Thence his encouragements have led me up, 
 
 Ascending and still circling round the mount "s 
 
 That you doth straighten, whom the world made 
 
 He says that he will bear me company, [crooked. 
 
 Till I shall be where Beatrice will be ; 
 There it behoves me to remain without him. 
 
 This is Virgilius, who thus says to me," 130 
 
 And him I pointed at ; " the other is 
 That shade for whom just now shook every slope 
 
 Your realm, that from itself discharges him." 
 
CANTO XXIV. 
 
 "VTOR speech the going, nor the going that 
 Slackened ; but talking we went bravely on, 
 Even as a vessel urged by a good wind. 
 
 And shadows, that appeared things doubly dead, 
 
 From out the sepulchres of their eyes betrayed s 
 
 Wonder at me, aware that I was living. 
 
 And I, continuing my colloquy, 
 
 Said : " Peradventure he goes up more slowly 
 Than he would do, for other people's sake. 
 
 But tell me, if thou knowest, where is Piccarda ; 10 
 
 Tell me if any one of note I see 
 Among this folk that gazes at me so." 
 
 "My sister, who, 'twixt beautiful and good, 
 
 I know not which was more, triumphs rejoicing 
 Already in her crown on high Olympus." 15 
 
 So said he first, and then : " *T is not forbidden 
 To name each other here, so milked away 
 Is our resemblance by our dieting. 
 
iS2 The Divine Comedy 
 
 This," pointing with his finger, "is Buonagiunta, 
 
 Buonagiunta of Lucca ; and that face 20 
 
 Beyond him there, more peaked than the others, 
 
 Has held the holy Church within his arms ; 
 
 From Tours was he, and purges by his fasting 
 Bolsena's eels and the Vernaccia wine." 
 
 He named me many others one by one; 25 
 
 And all contented seemed at being named, 
 So that for this I saw not one dark look. 
 
 I saw for hunger bite the empty air 
 Ubaldin dalla Pila, and Boniface, 
 Who with his crook had pastured many people. 3° 
 
 I saw Messer Marchese, who had leisure 
 
 Once at Forli for drinking with less dryness, 
 And he was one who ne'er felt satisfied. 
 
 But as he does who scans, and then doth prize 
 
 One more than others, did I him of Lucca, 35 
 
 Who seemed to take most cognizance of me. 
 
 He murmured, and I know not what Gentucca 
 
 From that place heard I, where he felt the wound 
 Of justice, that doth macerate them so. 
 
 "O soul," I said, "that seemest so desirous 4° 
 
 To speak with me, do so that I may hear thee, 
 And with thy speech appease thyself and me." 
 
Purgatorio xxiv. 153 
 
 "A maid is born, and wears not yet the veil," 
 
 Began he, "who to thee shall pleasant make 
 
 My city, howsoever men may blame it. 45 
 
 Thou shalt go on thy way with this prevision; 
 
 If by my murmuring thou hast been deceived, 
 True things hereafter will declare it to thee. 
 
 But say if him I here behold, who forth 
 
 Evoked the new-invented rhymes, beginning, 5° 
 
 Ladies, that have intelligence of love V 
 
 And I to him : " One am I, who, whenever 
 
 Love doth inspire me, note, and in that measure 
 Which he within me dictates, singing go." 
 
 " O brother, now I see," he said, " the knot 55 
 
 Which me, the Notary, and Guittone held 
 Short of the sweet new style that now I hear. 
 
 I do perceive full clearly how your pens 
 
 Go closely following after him who dictates, 
 Which with our own forsooth came not to pass; 60 
 
 And he who sets himself to go beyond, 
 
 No difference sees from one style to another"-; 
 And as if satisfied, he held his peace. 
 
 Even as the birds, that winter tow'rds the Nile, 
 
 Sometimes into a phalanx form themselves, 65 
 
 Then fly in greater haste, and go in file; 
 
154 The Divine Comedy 
 
 In such wise all the people who were there, 
 
 Turning their faces, hurried on their steps, 
 Both by their leanness and their wishes light. 
 
 And as a man, who weary is with trotting, 7 o 
 
 Lets his companions onward go, and walks, 
 Until he vents the panting of his chest; 
 
 So did Forese let the holy flock 
 
 Pass by, and came with me behind it, saying, 
 "When will it be that I again shall see thee ? " 7S 
 
 "How long," I answered, "I may live, I know not; 
 Yet my return will not so speedy be, 
 But I shall sooner in desire arrive; 
 
 Because the place where I was set to live 
 
 From day to day of good is more depleted, 80 
 
 * And unto dismal ruin seems ordained." 
 
 "Now go," he said, "for him most guilty of it 
 At a beast's tail behold I dragged along 
 Towards the valley where is no repentance. 
 
 Faster at every step the beast is going, 85 
 
 Increasing evermore until it smites him, 
 And leaves the body vilely mutilated. 
 
 Not long those wheels shall turn," and he uplifted 
 His eyes to heaven, "ere shall be clear to thee 
 That which my speech no farther can declare. 90 
 
Ptcrgatorio xxiv. 155 
 
 Now stay behind ; because the time so precious 
 Is in this kingdom, that I lose too much 
 By coming onward thus abreast with thee." 
 
 As sometimes issues forth upon a gallop 
 
 A cavalier from out a troop that ride, 95 
 
 And seeks the honor of the first encounter, 
 
 So he with greater strides departed from us; 
 
 And on the road remained I with those two, 
 Who were such mighty marshals of the world. 
 
 And when before us he had gone so far 100 
 
 Mine eyes became to him such pursuivants 
 As was my understanding to his words, 
 
 Appeared to me with laden and living boughs 
 Another apple-tree, and not far distant, 
 From having but just then turned thitherward. 105 
 
 People I saw beneath it lift their hands, 
 
 And cry I know not what towards the leaves, 
 Like little children eager and deluded, 
 
 Who pray, and he they pray to doth not answer, 
 
 But, to make very keen their appetite, no 
 
 Holds their desire aloft, and hides it not. 
 
 Then they departed as if undeceived; 
 
 And now we came unto the mighty tree 
 Which prayers and tears so manifold refuses. 
 
156 The Divi7te Comedy 
 
 " Pass farther onward without drawing near ; "5 
 
 The tree of which Eve ate is higher up, 
 And out of that one has this tree been raised." 
 
 Thus said I know not who among the branches ; 
 Whereat Virgilius, Statius, and myself 
 Went crowding forward on the side that rises. i*o 
 
 "Be mindful," said he, "of the accursed ones 
 Formed of the cloud-rack, who inebriate 
 Combated Theseus with their double breasts ; 
 
 And of the Jews who showed them soft in drinking, 
 
 Whence Gideon would not have them for companions, 
 When he tow'rds Midian the hills descended." i*6 
 
 Thus, closely pressed to one of the two borders, 
 On passed we, hearing sins of gluttony, 
 Followed forsooth by miserable gains; 
 
 Then set at large upon the lonely road, 13° 
 
 A thousand steps and more we onward went, 
 In contemplation, each without a word. 
 
 "What go ye thinking thus, ye three alone?" 
 Said suddenly a voice, whereat I started 
 As terrified and timid beasts are wont. »35 
 
 I raised my head to see who this might be, 
 And never in a furnace was there seen 
 Metals or glass so lucent and so red 
 
Purgatorio xxiv. 157 
 
 As one I saw who said : " If it may please you 
 
 To mount aloft, here it behoves you turn; 140 
 
 This way goes he who goeth after peace." 
 
 His aspect had bereft me of my sight, 
 
 So that I turned me back unto my Teachers, 
 Like one who goeth as his hearing guides him. 
 
 And as, the harbinger of early dawn, 145 
 
 The air of May doth move and breathe out fragrance, 
 Impregnate all with herbage and with flowers, 
 
 So did I feel a breeze strike in the midst 
 
 My front, and felt the moving of the plumes 
 
 That breathed around an odor of ambrosia; 150 
 
 And heard it said : " Blessed are they whom grace 
 So much illumines, that the love of taste 
 Excites not in their breasts too great desire, 
 
 Hungering at all times so far as is just." 
 
CANTO XXV. 
 
 1VTOW was it the ascent no hindrance brooked, 
 Because the sun had his meridian circle 
 To Taurus left, and night to Scorpio; 
 
 Wherefore as doth a man who tarries not, 
 
 But goes his way, whate'er to him appear, 5 
 
 If of necessity the sting transfix him, 
 
 In this wise did we enter through the gap, 
 
 Taking the stairway, one before the other, 
 Which by its narrowness divides the climbers. 
 
 And as the little stork that lifts its wing 10 
 
 With a desire to fly, and does not venture 
 To leave the nest, and lets it downward droop, 
 
 Even such was I, with the desire of asking 
 
 Kindled and quenched, unto the motion coming 
 
 » * 
 He makes who doth address himself to speak. 15 
 
 Not for our pace, though rapid it might be, 
 
 My father sweet forbore, but said : " Let fly 
 
 The bow of speech thou to the barb hast drawn." 
 
Pttr gator io xxv. 159 
 
 With confidence I opened then my mouth, 
 
 And I began : " How can one meagre grow %o 
 
 There where the need of nutriment applies not ? " 
 
 " If thou wouldst call to mind how Meleager 
 Was wasted by the wasting of a brand, 
 This would not," said he, "be to thee so sour; 
 
 And wouldst thou think how at each tremulous motion 25 
 Trembles within a mirror your own image ; 
 That which seems hard would mellow seem to thee. 
 
 But that thou mayst content thee in thy wish 
 Lo Statius here ; and him I call and pray 
 He now will be the healer of thy wounds." 30 
 
 "If I unfold to him the eternal vengeance," 
 
 Responded Statius, "where thou present art, 
 Be my excuse that I can naught deny thee." 
 
 Then he began : " Son, if these words of mine 
 
 Thy mind doth contemplate and doth receive, 35 
 
 They '11 be thy light unto the How thou sayest. 
 
 The perfect blood, which never is drunk up 
 
 Into the thirsty veins, and which remaineth 
 Like food that from the table thou removest, 
 
 Takes in the heart for all the human members 40 
 
 Virtue informative, as being that 
 Which to be changed to them goes through the veins. 
 
160 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Again digest, descends it where 't is better 
 
 Silent to be than say; and then drops thence 
 
 Upon another's blood in natural vase. 45 
 
 There one together with the other mingles, 
 One to be passive meant, the other active 
 By reason of the perfect place it springs from; 
 
 And being conjoined, begins to operate, 
 
 Coagulating first, then vivifying s° 
 
 What for its matter it had made consistent. 
 
 The active virtue, being made a soul 
 As of a plant, (in so far different, 
 This on the way is, that arrived already,) 
 
 Then works so much, that now it moves and feels 55 
 
 Like a sea-fungus, and then undertakes 
 To organize the powers whose seed it is. 
 
 Now, Son, dilates and now distends itself 
 The virtue from the generator's heart, 
 Where nature is intent on all the members. 60 
 
 But how from animal it man becomes 
 
 Thou dost not see as yet ; this is a point 
 Which made a wiser man than thou once err 
 
 So far, that in his doctrine separate 
 
 He made the soul from possible intellect, 65 
 
 For he no organ saw by this assumed. 
 
Puvgatorio xxv. 161 
 
 Open thy breast unto the truth that 's coming, 
 And know that, just as soon as in the foetus 
 The articulation of the brain is perfect, 
 
 The primal Motor turns to it well pleased 7° 
 
 At so great art of nature, and inspires 
 A spirit new with virtue all replete, 
 
 Which what it finds there active doth attract 
 Into its substance, and becomes one soul, 
 Which lives, and feels, and on itself revolves. 75 
 
 And that thou less may wonder at my word, 
 
 Behold the sun's heat, which becometh wine, 
 Joined to the juice that from the vine distils. 
 
 Whenever Lachesis has no more thread, 
 
 It separates from the flesh, and virtually 80 
 
 Bears with itself the human and divine ; 
 
 The other faculties are voiceless all ; 
 
 The memory, the intelligence, and the will 
 In action far more vigorous than before. 
 
 Without a pause it falleth of itself 85 
 
 In marvellous way on one shore or the other; 
 There of its roads it first is cognizant. 
 
 Soon as the place there circumscribeth it, 
 
 The virtue informative rays round about, 
 
 As, and as much as, in the living members. 90 
 
1 62 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And even as the air, when full of rain, 
 
 By alien rays that are therein reflected, 
 With divers colors shows itself adorned, 
 
 So there the neighboring air doth shape itself 
 
 Into that form which doth impress upon it 95 
 
 Virtually the soul that has stood still. 
 
 And then in manner of the little flame, 
 
 Which followeth the fire where'er it shifts, 
 After the spirit followeth its new form. 
 
 Since afterwards it takes from this its semblance, 100 
 
 It is called shade; and thence it organizes 
 Thereafter every sense, even to the sight. 
 
 Thence is it that we speak, and thence we laugh ; 
 Thence is it that we form the tears and sighs, 
 That on the mountain thou mayhap hast heard. 105 
 
 According as impress us our desires 
 
 And other affections, so the shade is shaped, 
 And this is cause of what thou wonderest at." 
 
 And now unto the last of all the circles 
 
 Had we arrived, and to the right hand turned, no 
 And were attentive to another care. 
 
 There the embankment shoots forth flames of fire, 
 And upward doth the cornice breathe a blast 
 That drives them back, and from itself sequesters. 
 
Ptcrgatorio xxv. 163 
 
 Hence we must needs go on the open side, 115 
 
 And one by one; and I did fear the fire 
 On this side, and on that the falling down. 
 
 My Leader said : "Along this place one ought 
 To keep upon the eyes a tightened rein, 
 Seeing that one so easily might err." iao 
 
 " Summte Deus cle?nentice" in the bosom 
 
 Of the great burning chanted then I heard, 
 Which made me no less eager to turn round; 
 
 And spirits saw I walking through the flame ; 
 
 Wherefore I looked, to my own steps and theirs 125 
 Apportioning my sight from time to time. 
 
 After the close which to that hymn is made, 
 Aloud they shouted, "Virum non cognosco"; 
 Then recommenced the hymn with voices low. 
 
 This also ended, cried they : "To the wood 130 
 
 Diana ran, and drove forth Helice 
 Therefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison. " 
 
 Then to their song returned they ; then the wives 
 
 They shouted, and the husbands who were chaste, 
 As virtue and the marriage vow imposes. 135 
 
 And I believe that them this mode suffices, 
 
 For all the time the fire is burning them; 
 With such care is it needful, and such food, 
 
 That the last wound of all should be closed up. 
 
CANTO XXVI. 
 
 "V\7'HILE on the brink thus one before the other 
 We went upon our way, oft the good Master 
 Said : " Take thou heed ! suffice it that I warn thee." 
 
 On the right shoulder smote me now the sun, 
 
 That, raying out, already the whole west 5 
 
 Changed from its azure aspect into white. 
 
 And with my shadow did I make the flame 
 
 Appear more red ; and even to such a sign 
 Shades saw I many, as they went, give heed. 
 
 This was the cause that gave them a beginning 10 
 
 To speak of me; and to themselves began they 
 To say : "That seems not a factitious body ! " 
 
 Then towards me, as far as they could come, 
 Came certain of them, always with regard 
 Not to step forth where they would not be burned. 15 
 
 "O thou who goest, not from being slower 
 But reverent perhaps, behind the others, 
 Answer me, who in thirst and fire am burning. 
 
Ptirgatorio xxvl 165 
 
 Nor to me only is thine answer needful ; 
 
 For all of these have greater thirst for it 20 
 
 Than for cold water Ethiop or Indian. 
 Tell us how is it that thou makest thyself 
 A wall unto the sun, as if thou hadst not 
 Entered as yet into the net of death." 
 Thus one of them addressed me, and I straight 25 
 
 Should have revealed myself, were I not bent 
 On other novelty that then appeared. 
 For through the middle of the burning road 
 
 There came a people face to face with these, 
 Which held me in suspense with gazing at them. 30 
 There see I hastening upon either side 
 
 Each of the shades, and kissing one another 
 Without a pause, content with brief salute. 
 Thus in the middle of their brown battalions 
 
 Muzzle to muzzle one ant meets another 35 
 
 Perchance to spy their journey or their fortune. 
 No sooner is the friendly greeting ended, 
 Or ever the first footstep passes onward, 
 Each one endeavors to outcry the other; 
 The new-come people : " Sodom and Gomorrah ! " 4 o 
 The rest : "Into the cow Pasiphae enters, 
 So that the bull unto her lust may run ! " 
 
1 66 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Then as the cranes, that to Riphasan mountains 
 Might fly in part, and part towards the sands, 
 These of the frost, those of the sun avoidant, 45 
 
 One folk is going, and the other coming, 
 
 And weeping they return to their first songs, 
 And to the crv that most befitteth them ; 
 
 And close to me approached, even as before, 
 
 The very same who had entreated me, 50 
 
 Attent to listen in their countenance. 
 
 I, who their inclination twice had seen, 
 
 Began : " O souls secure in the possession, 
 Whene'er it may be, of a state of peace, 
 
 Neither unripe nor ripened have remained 55 
 
 My members upon earth, but here are with me 
 With their own blood and their articulations. 
 
 I go up here to be no longer blind; 
 
 A Lady is above, who wins this grace, 
 
 Whereby the mortal through your world I bring. 60 
 
 But as your greatest longing satisfied 
 
 May soon become, so that the Heaven may house you 
 Which full of love is, and most amply spreads, 
 
 Tell me, that I again in books may write it, 
 
 Who are you, and what is that multitude 65 
 
 Which goes upon its way behind your backs?" 
 
Purgatorio xxvi. 167 
 
 Not otherwise with wonder is bewildered 
 
 The mountaineer, and staring round is dumb, 
 When rough and rustic to the town he goes, 
 
 Than every shade became in its appearance ; 70 
 
 But when they of their stupor were disburdened, 
 Which in high hearts is quickly quieted, 
 
 " Blessed be thou, who of our border-lands,'* 
 
 He recommenced who first had questioned us, 
 
 " Experience freightest for a better life. 75 
 
 The folk that comes not with us have offended 
 In that for which once Cassar, triumphing, 
 Heard himself called in contumely, 'Queen.' 
 
 Therefore they separate, exclaiming, 'Sodom!' 
 
 Themselves reproving, even as thou hast heard, 80 
 And add unto their burning by their shame. 
 
 Our own transgression was hermaphrodite; 
 But because we observed not human law, 
 Following like unto beasts our appetite, 
 
 In our opprobrium by us is read, 85 
 
 When we part company, the name of her 
 Who bestialized herself in bestial wood. 
 
 Now knowest thou our acts, and what our crime was ; 
 Wouldst thou perchance by name know who we are, 
 There is not time to tell, nor could I do it. 90 
 
1 68 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Thy wish to know me shall in sooth be granted ; 
 I 'm Guido Guinicelli, and now purge me, 
 Having repented ere the hour extreme." 
 
 The same that in the sadness of Lycurgus 
 
 Two sons became, their mother re-beholding, 9S 
 
 Such I became, but rise not to such height, 
 
 The moment I heard name himself the father 
 Of me and of my betters, who had ever 
 Practised the sweet and gracious rhymes of love ; 
 
 And without speech and hearing thoughtfully 100 
 
 For a long time I went, beholding him, 
 Nor for the fire did I approach him nearer. 
 
 When I was fed with looking, utterly 
 
 Myself I offered ready for his service, 
 
 With affirmation that compels belief. 105 
 
 And he to me : " Thou leavest footprints such 
 In me, from what I hear, and so distinct, 
 Lethe cannot efface them, nor make dim. 
 
 But if thy words just now the truth have sworn, 
 
 Tell me what is the cause why thou displayest "o 
 In word and look that dear thou holdest me?'* 
 
 And I to him: "Those dulcet lays of yours 
 
 Which, long as shall endure our modern fashion, 
 Shall make forever dear their very ink ! " 
 
Purgatorio xxvi. 169 
 
 " O brother," said he, " he whom I point out, 115 
 
 And here he pointed at a spirit in front, 
 " Was of the mother tongue a better smith. 
 
 Verses of love and proses of romance, 
 
 He mastered all; and let the idiots talk, 
 
 Who think the Lemosin surpasses him. i«> 
 
 To clamor more than truth they turn their faces, 
 And in this way establish their opinion, 
 Ere art or reason has by them been heard. 
 
 Thus many ancients with Guittone did, 
 
 From cry to cry still giving him applause, ^s 
 
 Until the truth has conquered with most persons. 
 
 Now, if thou hast such ample privilege 
 
 "T is granted thee to go unto the cloister 
 Wherein is Christ the abbot of the college, 
 
 To him repeat for me a Paternoster, 13° 
 
 So far as needful to us of this world, 
 Where power of sinning is no longer ours." 
 
 Then, to give place perchance to one behind, 
 Whom he had near, he vanished in the fire 
 As fish in water going to the bottom. 135 
 
 I moved a little tow'rds him pointed out, 
 
 And said that to his name my own desire 
 An honorable place was making ready. 
 
170 The Divine Comedy 
 
 He of his own free will began to say : 
 
 Tan ni abellis vostre cortes deman, 14° 
 
 Que jeu noni puesc ni vueill a vos cobrire ; 
 Jeu sui Arnaut, que plor e vat chant an ; 
 
 Consiros vet la passada folor, 
 
 E vezjauzen lo jorn qu' esper denan. 
 Ara vus prec per aquella valor, 145 
 
 Que vus condus al som de la scalina, 
 
 Sovenga vus a tetnprar ma dolor* 
 Then hid him in the fire that purifies them. 
 
 * So pleases me your courteous demand, 
 I cannot and I will not hide me from you. 
 
 I am Arnaut, who weep and singing go ; 
 Contrite I see the folly of the past, 
 And joyous see the hoped-for day before me. 
 
 Therefore do I implore you, by that power 
 
 Which guides you to the summit of the stairs, 
 Be mindful to assuage my suffering ! 
 
CANTO XXVII. 
 
 A S when he vibrates forth his earliest rays, 
 In regions where his Maker shed his blood, 
 (The Ebro falling under lofty Libra, 
 
 And waters in the Ganges burnt with noon,) 
 
 So stood the Sun ; hence was the day departing, 5 
 When the glad Angel of God appeared to us. 
 
 Outside the flame he stood upon the verge, 
 And chanted forth, " Beati mundo corde" 
 In voice by far more living than our own. 
 
 Then : "No one farther goes, souls sanctified, 10 
 
 If first the fire bite not; within it enter, 
 And be not deaf unto the song beyond." 
 
 When we were close beside him thus he said; 
 
 Wherefore e'en such became I, when I heard him, 
 As he is who is put into the grave. 15 
 
 Upon my clasped hands I straightened me, 
 Scanning the fire, and vividly recalling 
 The human bodies I had once seen burned. 
 
172 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Towards me turned themselves my good Conductors, 
 
 And unto me Virgilius said : " My son, 20 
 
 Here may indeed be torment, but not death. 
 
 Remember thee, remember! and if I 
 On Geryon have safely guided thee, 
 What shall I do now I am nearer God? 
 
 Believe for certain, shouldst thou stand a full 25 
 
 Millennium in the bosom of this flame, 
 It could not make thee bald a single hair. 
 
 And if perchance thou think that I deceive thee, 
 Draw near to it, and put it to the proof 
 With thine own hands upon thy garment's hem. 3° 
 
 Now lay aside, now lay aside all fear, 
 
 Turn hitherward, and onward come securely"; 
 And I still motionless, and 'gainst my conscience ! 
 
 Seeing me stand still motionless and stubborn, 
 
 Somewhat disturbed he said : "Now look thou, Son, 35 
 'Twixt Beatrice and thee there is this wall." 
 
 As at the name of Thisbe oped his lids 
 
 The dying Pyramus, and gazed upon her, 
 What time the mulberry became vermilion, 
 
 Even thus, my obduracy being softened, 40 
 
 I turned to my wise Guide, hearing the name 
 That in my memory evermore is welling. 
 
Purgatorio xxvu. 173 
 
 Whereat he wagged his head, and said : " How now ? 
 Shall we stay on this side ? " then smiled as one 
 Does at a child who 's vanquished by an apple. 45 
 
 Then into the fire in front of me he entered, 
 Beseeching Statius to come after me, 
 Who a long way before divided us. 
 
 When I was in it, into molten glass 
 
 I would have cast me to refresh myself, s° 
 
 So without measure was the burning there ! 
 
 And my sweet Father, to encourage me, 
 Discoursing still of Beatrice went on, 
 Saying : " Her eyes I seem to see already ! " 
 
 A voice, that on the other side was singing, 55 
 
 Directed us, and we, attent alone 
 On that, came forth where the ascent began. 
 
 "Venite, benedicti Patris mei" 
 
 Sounded within a splendor, which was there 
 
 Such it o'ercame me, and I could not look. 60 
 
 " The sun departs," it added, " and night cometh ; 
 " Tarry ye not, but onward urge your steps, 
 So long as yet the west becomes not dark." 
 
 Straight forward through the rock the path ascended 
 ■ In such a way that I cut off the rays 65 
 
 Before me of the sun, that now was low. 
 
174 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And of few stairs we yet had made assay, 
 
 Ere by the vanished shadow the sun's setting 
 Behind us we perceived, I and my Sages. 
 
 And ere in all its parts immeasurable 70 
 
 The horizon of one aspect had become, 
 And Night her boundless dispensation held, 
 
 Each of us of a stair had made his bed ; 
 
 Because the nature of the mount took from us 
 
 The power of climbing, more than the delight. 75 
 
 Even as in ruminating passive grow 
 
 The goats, who have been swift and venturesome 
 Upon the mountain-tops ere they were fed, 
 
 Hushed in the shadow, while the sun is hot, 
 
 Watched by the herdsman, who upon his staff 80 
 Is leaning, and in leaning tendeth them ; 
 
 And as the shepherd, lodging out of doors, 
 Passes the night beside his quiet flock, 
 Watching that no wild beast may scatter it, 
 
 Such at that hour were we, all three of us, 85 
 
 I like the goat, and like the herdsmen they, 
 Begirt on this side and on that by rocks. 
 
 Little could there be seen of things without ; 
 But through that little I beheld the stars 
 More luminous and larger than their wont. 9° 
 
Pttr gator io xxvil 175 
 
 Thus ruminating, and beholding these, 
 
 Sleep seized upon me, — sleep, that oftentimes 
 Before a deed is done has tidings of it. 
 
 It was the hour, I think, when from the East 
 
 First on the mountain Citherea beamed, 95 
 
 Who with the fire of love seems always burning ; 
 
 Youthful and beautiful in dreams methought 
 I saw a lady walking in a meadow, 
 Gathering flowers ; and singing she was saying : 
 
 "Know whosoever may my name demand 100 
 
 That I am Leah, and go moving round 
 My beauteous hands to make myself a garland. 
 
 To please me at the mirror, here I deck me, 
 But never does my sister Rachel leave 
 Her looking-glass, and sitteth all day long. 105 
 
 To see her beauteous eyes as eager is she, 
 As I am to adorn me with my hands ; 
 Her, seeing, and me, doing satisfies." 
 
 And now before the antelucan splendors 
 
 That unto pilgrims the more grateful rise, no 
 
 As, home-returning, less remote they lodge, 
 
 The darkness fled away on every side, 
 
 And slumber with it ; whereupon I rose, 
 Seeing already the great Masters risen. 
 
176 The Divine Comedy 
 
 "That apple sweet, which through so many branches n; 
 
 The care of mortals goeth in pursuit of, 
 
 To-day shall put in peace thy hungerings." 
 Speaking to me, Virgilius of such words 
 
 As these made use; and never were there guerdons 
 
 That could in pleasantness compare with these. 120 
 Such longing upon longing came upon me 
 
 To be above, that at each step thereafter 
 
 For flight I felt in me the pinions growing. 
 When underneath us was the stairway all 
 
 Run o'er, and we were on the highest step, 125 
 
 Virgilius fastened upon me his eyes, 
 And said: "The temporal fire and the eternal, 
 
 Son, thou hast seen, and to a place art come 
 
 Where of myself no farther I discern. 
 By intellect and art I here have brought thee; 130 
 
 Take thine own pleasure for thy guide henceforth; 
 
 Beyond the steep ways and the narrow art thou. 
 Behold the sun, that shines upon thy forehead; 
 
 Behold the grass, the flowerets, and the shrubs 
 
 Which of itself alone this land produces. 13s 
 
 Until rejoicing come the beauteous eyes 
 
 Which weeping caused me to come unto thee, 
 
 Thou canst sit down, and thou canst walk among them. 
 
Ptirgatorio xxvu. 177 
 
 Expect no more or word or sign from me ; 
 
 Free and upright and sound is thy free-will, 140 
 
 And error were it not to do its bidding ; 
 
 Thee o'er thyself I therefore crown and mitre ! " 
 
 2 3 
 
CANTO XXVIII. 
 
 IMAGER already to search in and round 
 
 The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, 
 Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day, 
 
 Withouten more delay I left the bank, 
 
 Taking the level country slowly, slowly 5 
 
 Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance. 
 
 A softly-breathing air, that no mutation 
 
 Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me 
 No heavier blow than of a gentle wind, 
 
 Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous, 'i° 
 
 Did all of them bow downward toward that side 
 Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain; 
 
 Yet not from their upright direction swayed, 
 So that the little birds upon their tops 
 Should leave the practice of each art of theirs; is 
 
 But with full ravishment the hours of prime, 
 
 Singing, received they in the midst of leaves, 
 That ever bore a burden to their rhymes, 
 
* Pur gator io xxvm. 179 
 
 Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on 
 
 Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi, *o 
 When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco. 
 
 Already my slow steps had carried me 
 Into the ancient wood so far, that I 
 Could not perceive where I had entered it. 
 
 And lo! my further course a stream cut off, 25 
 
 Which tow'rd the left hand with its little waves 
 Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang. 
 
 All waters that on earth most limpid are 
 
 Would seem to have within themselves some mixture 
 Compared with that which nothing doth conceal, 30 
 
 Although it moves on with a brown, brown current 
 Under the shade perpetual, that never 
 Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. 
 
 With feet I stayed, and with mine eyes I passed 
 
 Beyond the rivulet, to look upon 35 
 
 The great variety of the fresh may. 
 
 And there appeared to me (even as appears 
 Suddenly something that doth turn aside 
 Through very wonder every other thought) 
 
 A lady all alone, who went along 40 
 
 Singing and culling floweret after floweret, 
 With which her pathway was all painted over. 
 
i8o The Divine Comedy 
 
 "Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love 
 
 Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks, 
 
 Which the heart's witnesses are wont to be, 45 
 
 May the desire come unto thee to draw 
 
 Near to this river's bank," I said to her, 
 
 "So much that I may hear what thou art singing. 
 
 Thou makest me remember where and what 
 
 Proserpina that moment was when lost 50 
 
 Her mother her, and she herself the Spring." 
 
 As turns herself, with feet together pressed 
 
 And to the ground, a lady who is dancing, 
 And hardly puts one foot before the other, 
 
 On the vermilion and the yellow flowerets 55 
 
 She turned towards me, not in other wise 
 Than maiden who her modest eyes casts down ; 
 
 And my entreaties made to be content, 
 
 So near approaching, that the dulcet sound 
 
 Came unto me together with its meaning. 60 
 
 As soon as she was where the grasses are 
 
 Bathed by the waters of the beauteous river, 
 To lift her eyes she granted me the boon. 
 
 I do not think there shone so great a light 
 
 Under the lids of Venus, when transfixed 65 
 
 By her own son, beyond his usual custom ! 
 
Ptirgatorio xxviii. 181 
 
 Erect upon the other bank she smiled, 
 
 Bearing full many colors in her hands, 
 Which that high land produces without seed. 
 
 Apart three paces did the river make us; 7° 
 
 But Hellespont, where Xerxes passed across, 
 (A curb still to all human arrogance,) 
 
 More hatred from Leander did not suffer 
 For rolling between Sestos and Abydos, 
 Than that from me, because it oped not then. 75 
 
 "Ye are new-comers; and because I smile," 
 Began she, " peradventure, in this place 
 Elect to human nature for its nest, 
 
 Some apprehension keeps you marvelling; 
 
 But the psalm Delect asti giveth light 80 
 
 Which has the power to uncloud your intellect. 
 
 And thou who foremost art, and didst entreat me, 
 
 Speak, if thou wouldst hear more; for I came ready 
 To all thy questionings, as far as needful." 
 
 " The water," said I, " and the forest's sound, 85 
 
 Are combating within me my new faith 
 In something which I heard opposed to this." 
 
 Whence she : " I will relate how from its cause 
 
 Proceedeth that which maketh thee to wonder, 
 And purge away the cloud that smites upon thee. 90 
 
1 82 The Divine Comedy 
 
 The Good Supreme, sole in itself delighting, 
 Created man good, and this goodly place 
 Gave him as hansel of eternal peace. 
 
 By his default short while he sojourned here; 
 
 By his default to weeping and to toil 95 
 
 He changed his innocent laughter and sweet play. 
 
 That the disturbance which below is made 
 By exhalations of the land and water, 
 (Which far as may be follow after heat,) 
 
 Might not upon mankind wage any war, 100 
 
 This mount ascended tow'rds the heaven so high, 
 And is exempt, from there where it is locked. 
 
 Now since the universal atmosphere 
 
 Turns in a circuit v/ith the primal motion 
 
 Unless the circle is broken on some side, io 5 
 
 Upon this height, that all is disengaged 
 
 In living ether, doth this motion strike 
 And make the forest sound, for it is dense; 
 
 And so much power the stricken plant possesses 
 
 That with its virtue it impregns the air, no 
 
 And this, revolving, scatters it around; 
 
 And yonder earth, according as 't is worthy 
 
 In self or in its clime, conceives and bears 
 Of divers qualities the divers trees ; 
 
Purgatorzo xxviil 183 
 
 It should not seem a marvel then on earth, us 
 
 This being heard, whenever any plant 
 
 Without seed manifest there taketh root. 
 And thou must know, this holy table-land 
 
 In which thou art is full of every seed, 
 
 And fruit has in it never gathered there. 120 
 
 The water which thou seest springs not from vein 
 
 Restored by vapor that the cold condenses, 
 
 Like to a stream that gains or loses breath ; 
 But issues from a fountain safe and certain, 
 
 Which by the will of God as much regains 125 
 
 As it discharges, open on two sides. 
 Upon this side with virtue it descends, 
 
 Which takes away all memory of sin; 
 
 On that, of every good deed done restores it. 
 Here Lethe, as upon the other side 13° 
 
 Eunoe, it is called ; and worketh not 
 
 If first on either side it be not tasted. 
 This every other savor doth transcend; 
 
 And notwithstanding slaked so far may be 
 
 Thy thirst, that I reveal to thee no more, 13s 
 
 I '11 give thee a corollary still in grace, 
 
 Nor think my speech will be to thee less dear 
 
 If it spread out beyond my promise to thee. 
 
184 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Those who in ancient times have feigned in song 
 
 The Age of Gold and its felicity, 140 
 
 Dreamed of this place perhaps upon Parnassus. 
 
 Here was the human race in innocence ; 
 
 Here evermore was Spring, and every fruit; 
 This is the nectar of which each one speaks." 
 
 Then backward did I turn me wholly round 145 
 
 Unto my Poets, and saw that with a smile 
 They had been listening to these closing words; 
 
 Then to the beautiful lady turned mine eyes. 
 
CANTO XXIX. 
 
 CINGING like unto an enamoured lady 
 
 She, with the ending of her words, continued : 
 " Beati quorum tecta sunt peccata" 
 
 And even as Nymphs, that wandered all alone 
 
 Among the sylvan shadows, sedulous s 
 
 One to avoid and one to see the sun, 
 
 She then against the stream moved onward, going 
 Along the bank, and I abreast of her, 
 Her little steps with little steps attending. 
 
 Between her steps and mine were not a hundred, 10 
 
 When equally the margins gave a turn, 
 In such a way, that to the East I faced. 
 
 Nor even thus our way continued far 
 
 Before the lady wholly turned herself 
 
 Unto me, saying, "Brother, look and listen!" 15 
 
 And lo! a sudden lustre ran across 
 
 On every side athwart the spacious forest, 
 Such that it made me doubt if it were lightning. 
 24 
 
1 86 The Divine Comedy 
 
 But since the lightning ceases as it comes, 
 
 And that continuing brightened more and more, 20 
 Within my thought I said, " What thing is this ? " 
 
 And a delicious melody there ran 
 
 Along the luminous air, whence holy zeal 
 Made me rebuke the hardihood of Eve; 
 
 For there where earth and heaven obedient were, *s 
 
 The woman only, and but just created, 
 Could not endure to stay 'neath any veil; 
 
 Underneath which had she devoutly stayed, 
 I sooner should have tasted those delights 
 Ineffable, and for a longer time. 3° 
 
 While 'mid such manifold first-fruits I walked 
 Of the eternal pleasure all enrapt, 
 And still solicitous of more delights, 
 
 In front of us like an enkindled fire 
 
 Became the air beneath the verdant boughs, 35 
 
 And the sweet sound as singing now was heard. 
 
 O Virgins sacrosanct! if ever hunger, 
 
 Vigils, or cold for you I have endured, 
 
 The occasion spurs me their reward to claim ! 
 
 Now Helicon must needs pour forth for me, 40 
 
 And with her choir Urania must assist me, 
 To put in verse things difficult to think. 
 
Pttrgatorio xxix. 187 
 
 A little farther on, seven trees of gold 
 
 In semblance the long space still intervening 
 Between ourselves and them did counterfeit ; 45 
 
 But when I had approached so near to them 
 
 The common object, which the sense deceives, 
 Lost not by distance any of its marks, 
 
 The faculty that lends discourse to reason 
 
 Did apprehend that they were candlesticks, 5° 
 
 And in the voices of the song "Hosanna!" 
 
 Above them flamed the harness beautiful, 
 
 Far brighter than the moon in the serene 
 Of midnight, at the middle of her month. 
 
 I turned me round, with admiration filled, 55 
 
 To good Virgilius, and he answered me 
 With visage no less full of wonderment. 
 
 Then back I turned my face to those high things, 
 Which moved themselves towards us so sedately, 
 They had been distanced by new-wedded brides. 60 
 
 The lady chid me : "Why dost thou burn only 
 So with affection for the living lights, 
 And dost not look at what comes after them ? " 
 
 Then saw I people, as behind their leaders, 
 
 Coming behind them, garmented in white, 65 
 
 And such a whiteness never was on earth. 
 
1 88 The Divine Comedy 
 
 The water on my left flank was resplendent, 
 
 And back to me reflected my left side, 
 
 E'en as a mirror, if I looked therein. 
 When I upon my margin had such post 70 
 
 That nothing but the stream divided us, 
 
 Better to see I gave my steps repose ; 
 And I beheld the flamelets onward go, 
 
 Leaving behind themselves the air depicted, 
 
 And they of trailing pennons had the semblance, 75 
 So that it overhead remained distinct 
 
 With sevenfold lists, all of them of the colors 
 
 Whence the sun's bow is made, and Delia's girdle. 
 These standards to the rearward longer were 
 
 Than was my sight; and, as it seemed to me, 80 
 
 Ten paces were the outermost apart. 
 Under so fair a heaven as I describe 
 
 The four and twenty Elders, two by two, 
 
 Came on incoronate with flower-de-luce. 
 They all of them were singing: "Blessed thou 85 
 
 Among the daughters of Adam art, and blessed 
 
 Forevermore shall be thy loveliness." 
 After the flowers and other tender grasses 
 
 In front of me upon the other margin 
 
 Were disencumbered of that race elect, 9° 
 
Pur gator io xxix. 189 
 
 Even as in heaven star followeth after star, 
 
 There came close after them four animals, 
 Incoronate each one with verdant leaf. 
 
 Plumed with six wings was every one of them, 
 
 The plumage full of eyes ; the eyes of Argus 9s 
 
 If they were living would be such as these. 
 
 Reader! to trace their forms no more I waste 
 
 My rhymes; for other spendings press me so, 
 That I in this cannot be prodigal. 
 
 But read Ezekiel, who depicteth them 100 
 
 As he beheld them from the region cold 
 Coming with cloud, with whirlwind, and with fire; 
 
 And such as thou shalt find them in his pages, 
 
 Such were they here; saving that in their plumage 
 John is with me, and dififereth from him. 105 
 
 The interval between these four contained 
 A chariot triumphal on two wheels, 
 Which by a Griffin's neck came drawn along; 
 
 And upward he extended both his wings 
 
 Between the middle list and three and three, no 
 
 So that he injured none by cleaving it. 
 
 So high they rose that they were lost to sight ; 
 His limbs were gold, so far as he was bird, 
 And white the others with vermilion mingled. 
 
190 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Not only Rome with no such splendid car 115 
 
 E'er gladdened Africanus, or Augustus, 
 But poor to it that of the Sun would be, — 
 
 That of the Sun, which swerving was burnt up 
 At the importunate orison of Earth, 
 When Jove was so mysteriously just. «<> 
 
 Three maidens at the right wheel in a circle 
 Came onward dancing ; one so very* red 
 That in the fire she hardly had been noted. 
 
 The second was as if her flesh and bones 
 
 Had all been fashioned out of emerald ; «s 
 
 The third appeared as snow but newly fallen. 
 
 And now they seemed conducted by the white, 
 Now by the red, and from the song of her 
 The others took their step, or slow or swift. 
 
 Upon the left hand four made holiday .13° 
 
 Vested in purple, following the measure 
 Of one of them with three eyes in her head. 
 
 In rear of all the group here treated of 
 
 Two old men I beheld, unlike in habit, 
 
 But like in gait, each dignified and grave. 135 
 
 One showed himself as one of the disciples 
 
 Of that supreme Hippocrates, whom nature 
 Made for the animals she holds most dear; 
 
Purgatorio xxix. 191 
 
 Contrary care the other manifested, 
 
 With sword so shining and so sharp, it caused h° 
 Terror to me on this side of the river. 
 
 Thereafter four I saw of humble aspect, 
 And behind all an aged man alone 
 Walking in sleep with countenance acute. 
 
 And like the foremost company these seven 145 
 
 Were habited; yet of the flower-de-luce 
 No garland round about the head they wore, 
 
 But of the rose, and other flowers vermilion; 
 
 At little distance would the sight have sworn 
 That all were in a flame above their brows. 
 
 And when the car was opposite to me 
 
 Thunder was heard ; and all that folk august 
 Seemed to have further progress interdicted, 
 
 There with the vanward ensigns standing still. 
 
 150 
 
CANTO XXX. 
 
 "VI r HEN the Septentrion of the highest heaven 
 (Which never either setting knew or rising, 
 Nor veil of other cloud than that of sin, 
 
 And which made every one therein aware 
 
 Of his own duty, as the lower makes 5 
 
 Whoever turns the helm to come to port) 
 
 Motionless halted, the veracious people, 
 
 That came at first between it and the Griffin, 
 Turned themselves to the car, as to their peace. 
 
 And one of them, as if by Heaven commissioned, « 
 
 Singing, "Kent, sponsa, de Libano" 
 Shouted three times, and all the others after. 
 
 Even as the Blessed at the final summons 
 
 Shall rise up quickened each one from his cavern, 
 Uplifting light the reinvested flesh, »5 
 
 So upon that celestial chariot 
 
 A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, 
 Ministers and messengers of life eternal. 
 
Ptirgatorio xxx. 193 
 
 They all were saying, "Benedictus qui venis" 
 
 And, scattering flowers above and round about, 20 
 " Man i bus date lilia plenis" 
 
 Ere now have I beheld, as day began, 
 
 The eastern hemisphere all tinged with rose, 
 And the other heaven with fair serene adorned ; 
 
 And the sun's face, uprising, overshadowed 25 
 
 So that by tempering influence of vapors 
 For a long interval the eye sustained it ; 
 
 Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers 
 
 Which from those hands angelical ascended, 
 
 And downward fell again inside and out, 30 
 
 Over her snow-white veil with olive cinct 
 Appeared a lady under a green mantle, 
 Vested in color of the living flame. 
 
 And my own spirit, that already now 
 
 So long a time had been, that in her presence 35 
 
 Trembling with awe it had not stood abashed, 
 
 Without more knowledge having by mine eyes, 
 
 Through occult virtue that from her proceeded 
 Of ancient love the mighty influence felt. 
 
 As soon as on my vision smote the power 40 
 
 Sublime, that had already pierced me through 
 Ere from my boyhood I had yet come forth, 
 25 
 
194 The Divine Comedy 
 
 Tq the left hand I turned with that reliance 
 
 With which the little child runs to his mother, 
 
 When he has fear, or when he is afflicted, 45 
 
 To say unto Virgilius: "Not a drachm 
 
 Of blood remains in me, that does not tremble; 
 
 I know the traces of the ancient flame." 
 But us Virgilius of himself deprived 
 
 Had left, Virgilius, sweetest of all fathers, s° 
 
 Virgilius, to whom I for safety gave me : 
 Nor whatsoever lost the ancient mother 
 
 Availed my cheeks now purified from dew, 
 
 That weeping they should not again be darkened. 
 " Dante, because Virgilius has departed 55 
 
 Do not weep yet, do not weep yet awhile; 
 
 For by another sword thou need'st must weep." 
 E'en as an admiral, who on poop and prow 
 
 Comes to behold the people that are working 
 
 In other ships, and cheers them to well-doing, 60 
 Upon the left hand border of the car, 
 
 When at the sound I turned of my own name, 
 
 Which of necessity is here recorded, 
 I saw the Lady, who erewhile appeared 
 
 Veiled underneath the angelic festival, 65 
 
 Direct her eyes to me across the river. 
 
Purgatorio xxx. 195 
 
 Although the veil, that from her head descended, 
 Encircled with the foliage of Minerva, 
 Did not permit her to appear distinctly, 
 In attitude still royally majestic 7 o 
 
 Continued she, like unto one who speaks, 
 And keeps his warmest utterance in reserve : 
 
 "Look at me well; in sooth I'm Beatrice! 
 
 How didst thou deign to come unto the Mountain ? 
 Didst thou not know that man is happy here ?" 75 
 
 Mine eyes fell downward into the clear fountain, 
 But, seeing myself therein, I sought the grass, 
 So great a shame did weigh my forehead down. 
 
 As to the son the mother seems superb, 
 
 So she appeared to me; for somewhat bitter 80 
 
 Tasteth the savor of severe compassion. 
 
 Silent became she, and the Angels sang 
 Suddenly, "In te, Domine, speravi" : 
 But beyond pedes meos did not pass. 
 
 Even as the snow among the living rafters 85 
 
 Upon the back of Italy congeals, 
 Blown on and drifted by Sclavonian winds, 
 
 And then, dissolving, trickles through itself 
 
 Whene'er the land that loses shadow breathes, 
 
 So that it seems a fire that melts a taper; 90 
 
196 The Divine Comedy 
 
 E'en thus was I without a tear or sigh, 
 
 Before the song of those who sing forever 
 After the music of the eternal spheres. 
 
 But when I heard in their sweet melodies 
 
 Compassion for me, more than had they said, 95 
 
 " O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus upbraid him ? " 
 
 The ice, that was about my heart congealed, 
 
 To air and water changed, and in my anguish 
 Through mouth and eyes came gushing from my breast. 
 
 She, on the right-hand border of the car 100 
 
 Still firmly standing, to those holy beings 
 Thus her discourse directed afterwards : 
 
 "Ye keep your watch in the eternal day, 
 
 So that nor night nor sleep can steal from you 
 
 One step the ages make upon their path; 105 
 
 Therefore my answer is with greater care, 
 
 That he may hear me who is weeping yonder, 
 So that the sin and dole be of one measure. 
 
 Not only by the work of those great wheels, 
 
 That destine every seed unto some end, no 
 
 According as the stars are in conjunction, 
 
 But by the largess of celestial graces, 
 
 Which have such lofty vapors for their rain 
 That near to them our sight approaches not, 
 
Pur gator io xxx. 197 
 
 Such had this man become in his new life us 
 
 Potentially, that every righteous habit 
 Would have made admirable proof in him; 
 
 But so much more malignant and more savage 
 
 Becomes the land untilled and with bad seed, 
 
 The more good earthly vigor it possesses. 120 
 
 Some time did I sustain him with my look ; 
 Revealing unto him my youthful eyes, 
 I led him with me turned in the right way. 
 
 As soon as ever of my second age 
 
 I was upon the threshold and changed life, 125 
 
 Himself from me he took and gave to others. 
 
 When from the flesh to spirit I ascended, 
 
 And beauty and virtue were in me increased, 
 I was to him less dear and less delightful; 
 
 And into ways untrue he turned his steps, 130 
 
 Pursuing the false images of good, 
 That never any promises fulfil ; 
 
 Nor prayer for inspiration me availed, 
 
 By means of which in dreams and otherwise 
 
 I called him back, so little did he heed them. 135 
 
 So low he fell, that all appliances 
 
 For his salvation were already short, 
 Save showing him the people of perdition. 
 
198 The Divine Comedy 
 
 For this I visited the gates of death, 
 
 And unto him, who so far up has led him, 140 
 
 My intercessions were with weeping borne. 
 God's lofty fiat would be violated, 
 
 If Lethe should be passed, and if such viands 
 
 Should tasted be, withouten any scot 
 Of penitence, that gushes forth in tears." 145 
 
CANTO XXXI. 
 
 "f\ THOU who art beyond the sacred river," 
 Turning to me the point of her discourse, 
 That edgewise even had seemed to me so keen, 
 
 She recommenced, continuing without pause, 
 
 " Say, say if this be true ; to such a charge, 5 
 
 Thy own confession needs must be conjoined. " 
 
 My faculties were in so great confusion, 
 
 That the voice moved, but sooner was extinct 
 Than by its organs it was set at large. 
 
 Awhile she waited ; then she said : "What thinkest ? 10 
 Answer me; for the mournful memories 
 In thee not yet are by the waters injured.'* 
 
 Confusion and dismay together mingled 
 
 Forced such a Yes! from out my mouth, that sight 
 Was needful to the understanding of it. is 
 
 Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis discharged 
 Too tensely drawn the bowstring and the bow, 
 And with less force the arrow hits the mark, 
 
200 The Divine Comedy 
 
 So I gave way beneath that heavy burden, 
 
 Outpouring in a torrent tears and sighs, 20 
 
 And the voice flagged upon its passage forth. 
 
 Whence she to me: "In those desires of mine 
 Which led thee to the loving of that good, 
 Beyond which there is nothing to aspire to, 
 
 What trenches lying traverse or what chains 25 
 
 Didst thou discover, that of passing onward 
 Thou shouldst have thus despoiled thee of the hope? 
 
 And what allurements or what vantages 
 
 Upon the forehead of the others showed, 
 
 That thou shouldst turn thy footsteps unto them ? " 
 
 After the heaving of a bitter sigh, 3 1 
 
 Hardly had I the voice to make response, 
 And with fatigue my lips did fashion it. 
 
 Weeping I said : "The things that present were 
 
 With their false pleasure turned aside my steps, 35 
 Soon as your countenance concealed itself." 
 
 And she: "Shouldst thou be silent, or deny 
 What thou confessest, not less manifest 
 Would be thy fault, by such a Judge 'tis known. 
 
 But when from one's own cheeks comes bursting forth 40 
 The accusal of the sin, in our tribunal 
 Against the edge the wheel doth turn itself. 
 
Pur gator io -xxxi. 201 
 
 But still, that thou mayst feel a greater shame 
 For thy transgression, and another time 
 Hearing the Sirens thou mayst be more strong, 45 
 
 Cast down the seed of weeping and attend ; 
 
 So shalt thou hear, how in an opposite way 
 My buried flesh should have directed thee. 
 
 Never to thee presented art or nature 
 
 Pleasure so great as the fair limbs wherein 50 
 
 I was enclosed, which scattered are in earth. 
 
 And if the highest pleasure thus did fail thee 
 By reason of my death, what mortal thing 
 Should then have drawn thee into its desire ? 
 
 Thou oughtest verily at the first shaft 55 
 
 Of things fallacious to have risen up 
 To follow me, who was no longer such. 
 
 Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy pinions downward 
 To wait for further blows, or little girl, 
 Or other vanity of such brief use. 60 
 
 The callow birdlet waits for two or three, 
 But to the eyes of those already fledged, 
 In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot." 
 
 Even as children silent in their shame 
 
 Stand listening with their eyes upon the ground, 65 
 And conscious of their fault, and penitent; 
 26 
 
202 The Divine Comedy 
 
 So was I standing; and she said: "If thou 
 
 In hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beard 
 And thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing." 
 
 With less resistance is a robust holm 70 
 
 Uprooted, either by a native wind 
 Or else by that from regions of Iarbas, 
 
 Than I upraised at her command my chin ; 
 
 And when she by the beard the face demanded, 
 Well I perceived the venom of her meaning. 75 
 
 And as my countenance was lifted up, 
 
 Mine eye perceived those creatures beautiful 
 Had rested from the strewing of the flowers; 
 
 And, still but little reassured, mine eyes 
 
 Saw Beatrice turned round towards the monster, 80 
 That is one person only in two natures. 
 
 Beneath her veil, beyond the margent green, 
 
 She seemed to me far more her ancient self 
 To excel, than others here, when she was here. 
 
 So pricked me then the thorn of penitence, s 5 
 
 That of all other things the one which turned me 
 Most to its love became the most my foe. 
 
 Such self-conviction stung me at the heart 
 
 O'erpowered I fell, and what I then became 
 
 She knoweth who had furnished me the cause. 90 
 
Ptcrgatorio xxxi. 203 
 
 Then, when the heart restored my outward sense, 
 The lady I had found alone, above me 
 I saw, and she was saying, " Hold me, hold me." 
 
 Up to my throat she in the stream had drawn me, 
 
 And, dragging me behind her, she was moving 9s 
 Upon the water lightly as a shuttle. 
 
 When I was near unto the blessed shore, 
 
 "Asperges me" I heard so sweetly sung, 
 Remember it I cannot, much less write it. 
 
 The beautiful lady opened wide her arms, 100 
 
 Embraced my head, and plunged me underneath, 
 Where I was forced to swallow of the water. 
 
 Then forth she drew me, and all dripping brought 
 Into the dance of the four beautiful, 
 And each one with her arm did cover me. 105 
 
 "We here are Nymphs, and in the Heaven are stars; 
 Ere Beatrice descended to the world, 
 We as her handmaids were appointed her. 
 
 We'll lead thee to her eyes; but for the pleasant 
 
 Light that within them is, shall sharpen thine no 
 The three beyond, who more profoundly look." 
 
 Thus singing they began; and afterwards, 
 
 Unto the Griffin's breast they led me with them, 
 Where Beatrice was standing, turned towards us. 
 
204 The Divine Comedy 
 
 "See that thou dost not spare thine eyes," they said; 115 
 "Before the emeralds have we stationed thee, 
 Whence Love aforetime drew for thee his weapons." 
 
 A thousand longings, hotter than the flame, 
 
 Fastened mine eyes upon those eyes relucent, 
 
 That still upon the Griffin steadfast stayed. ™° 
 
 As in a glass the sun, not otherwise 
 
 Within them was the twofold monster shining, 
 Now with the one, now with the other nature. 
 
 Think, Reader, if within myself I marvelled, 
 
 When I beheld the thing itself stand still, '*5 
 
 And in its image it transformed itself. 
 
 While with amazement filled and jubilant, 
 
 My soul was tasting of the food, that while 
 It satisfies us makes us hunger for it, 
 
 Themselves revealing of the highest rank 130 
 
 In bearing, did the other three advance, 
 Singing to their angelic saraband. 
 
 "Turn, Beatrice, O turn thy holy eyes," 
 
 Such was their song, "unto thy faithful one, 
 
 Who has to see thee ta'en so many steps. 135 
 
 In grace do us the grace that thou unveil 
 
 Thy face to him, so that he may discern 
 The second beauty which thou dost conceal." 
 
Pur gator io xxxi. 205 
 
 O splendor of the living light eternal! 
 
 Who underneath the shadow of Parnassus 140 
 
 Has grown so pale, or drunk so at its cistern, 
 
 He would not seem to have his mind encumbered 
 Striving to paint thee as thou didst appear, 
 Where the harmonious heaven o'ershadowed thee, 
 
 When in the open air thou didst unveil ? 145 
 
CANTO XXXII. 
 
 QO steadfast and attentive were mine eyes 
 In satisfying their decennial thirst, 
 That all my other senses were extinct, 
 
 And upon this side and on that they had 
 
 Walls of indifference, so the holy smile 5 
 
 Drew them unto itself with the old net; 
 
 When forcibly my sight was turned away 
 
 Towards my left hand by those goddesses, 
 Because I heard from them a "Too intently!" 
 
 And that condition of the sight which is 10 
 
 In eyes but lately smitten by the sun 
 Bereft me of my vision some short while; 
 
 But to the less when sight re-shaped itself, 
 I say the less in reference to the greater 
 Splendor from which perforce I had withdrawn, 15 
 
 I saw upon its right wing wheeled about 
 
 The glorious host, returning with the sun 
 And with the sevenfold flames upon their faces. 
 
Put gatot 'io xxxii. 207 
 
 As underneath its shields, to save itself, 
 
 A squadron turns, and with its banner wheels, 20 
 
 Before the whole thereof can change its front, 
 
 That soldiery of the celestial kingdom 
 
 Which marched in the advance had wholly passed us 
 Before the chariot had turned its pole. 
 
 Then to the wheels the maidens turned themselves, ^s 
 And the Griffin moved his burden benedight, 
 But so that not a feather of him fluttered. 
 
 The lady fair who drew me through the ford 
 Followed with Statius and myself the wheel 
 Which made its orbit with the lesser arc. 30 
 
 So passing through the lofty forest, vacant 
 
 By fault of her who in the serpent trusted, 
 Angelic music made our steps keep time. 
 
 Perchance as great a space had in three flights 
 
 An arrow loosened from the string o'erpassed, 35 
 
 As we had moved when Beatrice descended. 
 
 I heard them murmur all together, "Adam !" 
 Then circled they about a tree despoiled 
 Of blooms and other leafage on each bough. 
 
 Its tresses, which so much the more dilate 40 
 
 As higher they ascend, had been by Indians 
 Among their forests marvelled at for height. 
 
2o8 The Divine Comedy 
 
 "Blessed art thou, O Griffin, who dost not 
 
 Pluck with thy beak these branches sweet to taste, 
 Since appetite by this was turned to evil." 45 
 
 After this fashion round the tree robust 
 
 The others shouted; and the twofold creature: 
 "Thus is preserved the seed of all the just." 
 
 And turning to the pole which he had dragged, 
 
 He drew it close beneath the widowed bough, s° 
 And what was of it unto it left bound. 
 
 In the same manner as our trees (when downward 
 Falls the great light, with that together mingled 
 Which after the celestial Lasca shines) 
 
 Begin to swell, and then renew themselves, 55 
 
 Each one with its own color, ere the Sun 
 Harness his steeds beneath another star : 
 
 Less than of rose and more than violet 
 
 A hue disclosing, was renewed the tree 
 
 That had erewhile its boughs so desolate. 60 
 
 I never heard, nor here below is sung, 
 
 The hymn which afterward that people sang, 
 Nor did I bear the melody throughout. 
 
 Had I the power to paint how fell asleep 
 
 Those eyes compassionless, of Syrinx hearing, 6 5 
 
 Those eyes to which more watching cost so dear, 
 
Ptcrgatorio xxxil 209 
 
 Even as a painter who from model paints 
 
 I would portray how I was lulled asleep ; 
 He may, who well can picture drowsihood. 
 
 Therefore I pass to what time I awoke, 7° 
 
 And say a splendor rent from me the veil 
 Of slumber, and a calling: "Rise, what dost thou?" 
 
 As to behold the apple-tree in blossom 
 
 Which makes the Angels greedy for its fruit, 
 
 And keeps perpetual bridals in the Heaven, 75 
 
 Peter and John and James conducted were, 
 And, overcome, recovered at the word 
 By which still greater slumbers have been broken, 
 
 And saw their school diminished by the loss 
 
 Not only of Elias, but of Moses, 80 
 
 And the apparel of their Master changed; 
 
 So I revived, and saw that piteous one 
 
 Above me standing, who had been conductress 
 Aforetime of my steps beside the river, 
 
 And all in doubt I said, "Where's Beatrice?" 85 
 
 And she: "Behold her seated underneath 
 The leafage new, upon the root of it. 
 
 Behold the company that circles her; 
 
 The rest behind the Griffin are ascending 
 
 With more melodious song, and more profound." 90 
 
 27 
 
210 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And if her speech were more diffuse I know not, 
 Because already in my sight was she 
 Who from the hearing of aught else had shut me. 
 
 Alone she sat upon the very earth, 
 
 Left there as guardian of the chariot 95 
 
 Which I had seen the biform monster fasten. 
 
 Encircling her, a cloister made themselves 
 
 The seven Nymphs, with those lights in their hands 
 Which are secure from Aquilon and Auster. 
 
 "Short while shalt thou be here a forester, 100 
 
 And thou shalt be with me forevermore 
 A citizen of that Rome where Christ is Roman. 
 
 Therefore, for that world's good which liveth ill, 
 Fix on the car thine eyes, and what thou seest, 
 Having returned to earth, take heed thou write." 105 
 
 Thus Beatrice; and I, who at the feet 
 
 Of her commandments all devoted was, 
 
 My mind and eyes directed where she willed. 
 
 Never descended with so swift a motion 
 
 Fire from a heavy cloud, when it is raining no 
 
 From out the region which is most remote, 
 
 As I beheld the bird of Jove descend 
 
 Down through the tree, rending away the bark, 
 As well as blossoms and the foliage new, 
 
Purgatorio xxxn. 2 1 1 
 
 <b 
 
 And he with all his might the chariot smote, "5 
 
 Whereat it reeled, like vessel in a tempest 
 Tossed by the waves, now starboard and now larboard. 
 
 Thereafter saw I leap into the body 
 Of the triumphal vehicle a Fox, 
 That seemed unfed with any wholesome food. 120 
 
 But for his hideous sins upbraiding him, 
 My Lady put him to as swift a flight 
 As such a fleshless skeleton could bear. 
 
 Then by the way that it before had come, 
 
 Into the chariot's chest I saw the Eagle 1*5 
 
 Descend, and leave it feathered with his plumes. 
 
 And such as issues from a heart that mourns, 
 
 A voice from Heaven there issued, and it said : 
 "My little bark, how badly art thou freighted!" 
 
 Methought, then, that the earth did yawn between 130 
 Both wheels, and I saw rise from it a Dragon, 
 Who through the chariot upward fixed his tail, 
 
 And as a wasp that draweth back its sting, 
 Drawing unto himself his tail malign, 
 Drew out the floor, and went his way rejoicing. 13s 
 
 That which remained behind, even as with grass 
 A fertile region, with the feathers, offered 
 Perhaps with pure intention and benign, 
 
212 The Divine Co7iiedy 
 
 Reclothed itself, and with them were reclothed 
 
 The pole and both the wheels so speedily, 140 
 
 A sigh doth longer keep the lips apart. 
 Transfigured thus the holy edifice 
 
 Thrust forward heads upon the parts of it, 
 Three on the pole and one at either corner. 
 The first were horned like oxen ; but the four 145 
 
 Had but a single horn upon the forehead; 
 A monster such had never yet been seen ! 
 Firm as a rock upon a mountain high, 
 Seated upon it, there appeared to me 
 A shameless whore, with eyes swift glancing round, 150 
 And, as if not to have her taken from him, 
 Upright beside her I beheld a giant ; 
 And ever and anon they kissed each other. 
 But because she her wanton, roving eye 
 
 Turned upon me, her angry paramour 155 
 
 Did scourge her from her head unto her feet. 
 Then full of jealousy, and fierce with wrath, 
 
 He loosed the monster, and across the forest 
 Dragged it so far, he made of that alone 
 A shield unto the whore and the strange beast. 160 
 
CANTO XXXIII. 
 
 "T"\Era, venerunt gentes," alternating 
 
 Now three, now four, melodious psalmody 
 The maidens in the midst of tears began; 
 
 And Beatrice, compassionate and sighing, 
 
 Listened to them with such a countenance, s 
 
 That scarce more changed was Mary at the cross. 
 
 But when the other virgins place had given 
 For her to speak, uprisen to her feet 
 With color as of fire, she made response : 
 
 "Modicum, et non videbitis me; I0 
 
 Et iterum, my sisters predilect, 
 Modicum, et vos vide bit is me." 
 
 Then all the seven in front of her she placed; 
 And after her, by beckoning only, moved 
 Me and the lady and the sage who stayed. 15 
 
 So she moved onward; and I do not think 
 
 That her tenth step was placed upon the ground, 
 When with her eyes upon mine eyes she smote, 
 
214 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And with a tranquil aspect, "Come more quickly," 
 
 To me she said, "that, if I speak with thee, 20 
 
 To listen to me thou mayst be well placed." 
 
 As soon as I was with her as I should be, 
 
 She said to me: "Why, brother, dost thou not 
 Venture to question now, in coming with me?" 
 
 As unto those who are too reverential, 25 
 
 Speaking in presence of superiors, 
 Who drag no living utterance to their teeth, 
 
 It me befell, that without perfect sound 
 Began I: "My necessity, Madonna, 
 You know, and that which thereunto is good." 30 
 
 And she to me: "Of fear and bashfulness 
 
 Henceforward I will have thee strip thyself, 
 So that thou speak no more as one who dreams. 
 
 Know that the vessel which the serpent broke 
 
 Was, and is not; but let him who is guilty 35 
 
 Think that God's vengeance does not fear a sop. 
 
 Without an heir shall not forever be 
 
 The Eagle that left his plumes upon the car, 
 Whence it became a monster, then a prey; 
 
 For verily I see, and hence narrate it, 4° 
 
 The stars already near to bring the time, 
 From every hindrance safe, and every bar, 
 
Pttrgatorio xxxiil 215 
 
 Within which a Five-hundred, Ten, and Five, 
 
 One sent from God, shall slay the thievish woman 
 And that same giant who is sinning with her. 4S 
 
 And peradventure my dark utterance, 
 
 Like Themis and the Sphinx, may less persuade thee, 
 Since, in their mode, it clouds the intellect; 
 But soon the facts shall be the Naiades 
 
 Who shall this difficult enigma solve, 5 o 
 
 Without destruction of the flocks and harvests. 
 Note thou; and even as by me are uttered 
 
 These words, so teach them unto those who live 
 That life which is a running unto death; 
 And bear in mind, whene'er thou writest them, 55 
 
 Not to conceal what thou hast seen the plant, 
 That twice already has been pillaged here. 
 Whoever pillages or shatters it, 
 
 With blasphemy of deed offendeth God, 
 Who made it holy for his use alone. 60 
 
 For biting that, in pain and in desire 
 
 Five thousand years and more the first-born soul 
 Craved Him, who punished in himself the bite. 
 Thy genius slumbers, if it deem it not 
 
 For special reason so pre-eminent 65 
 
 In height, and so inverted in its summit. 
 
216 The Divine Comedy 
 
 And if thy vain imaginings had not been 
 Water of Elsa round about thy mind, 
 And Pyramus to the mulberry, their pleasure, 
 
 Thou by so many circumstances only 7° 
 
 The justice of the interdict of God 
 Morally in the tree wouldst recognize. 
 
 But since I see thee in thine intellect 
 
 Converted into stone and stained with sin, 
 
 So that the light of my discourse doth daze thee, 75 
 
 I will too, if not written, at least painted, 
 
 Thou bear it back within thee, for the reason 
 That cinctwith palm the pilgrim's staff is borne." 
 
 And I : "As by a signet is the wax 
 
 Which does not change the figure stamped upon it, 80 
 My brain is now imprinted by yourself. 
 
 But wherefore so beyond my power of sight 
 Soars your desirable discourse, that aye 
 The more I strive, so much the more I lose it?" 
 
 "That thou mayst recognize," she said, "the school 85 
 Which thou hast followed, and mayst see how far 
 Its doctrine follows after my discourse, 
 
 And mayst behold your path from the divine 
 Distant as far as separated is 
 From earth the heaven that highest hastens on." 9° 
 
Ptirgatorio xxxiii. 217 
 
 Whence her I answered : " I do not remember 
 That ever I estranged myself from you, 
 Nor have I conscience of it that reproves me." 
 
 " And if thou art not able to remember," 
 
 Smiling she answered, "recollect thee now 95 
 
 That thou this very day hast drunk of Lethe ; 
 
 And if from smoke a fire may be inferred, 
 Such an oblivion clearly demonstrates 
 Some error in thy will elsewhere intent. 
 
 Truly from this time forward shall my words 100 
 
 Be naked, so far as it is befitting 
 To lay them open unto thy rude gaze." 
 
 And more coruscant and with slower steps 
 
 The sun was holding the meridian circle, 
 
 Which, with the point of view, shifts here and there, 
 
 When halted (as he cometh to a halt, 106 
 
 Who goes before a squadron as its escort, 
 If something new he find upon his way) 
 
 The maidens seven at a dark shadow's edge, 
 
 Such as, beneath green leaves and branches black, no 
 The Alp upon its frigid border wears. 
 
 In front of them the Tigris and Euphrates 
 
 Methought I saw forth issue from one fountain, 
 And slowly part, like friends, from one another. 
 28 
 
218 The Divine Comedy 
 
 "O light, O glory of the human race ! us 
 
 What stream is this which here unfolds itself 
 From out one source, and from itself withdraws ? " 
 
 For such a prayer, 't was said unto me, " Pray 
 
 Matilda that she tell thee"; and here answered, 
 
 As one does who doth free himself from blame, i*° 
 
 The beautiful lady : " This and other things 
 Were told to him by me ; and sure I am 
 The water of Lethe has not hid them from him." 
 
 And Beatrice: "Perhaps a greater care, 
 
 Which oftentimes our memory takes away, ^s 
 
 Has made the vision of his mind obscure. 
 
 But Eunoe behold, that yonder rises ; 
 
 Lead him to it, and, as thou art accustomed, 
 Revive again the half-dead virtue in him." 
 
 Like gentle soul, that maketh no excuse, 130 
 
 But makes its own will of another's will 
 As soon as by a sign it is disclosed, 
 
 Even so, when she had taken hold of me, 
 
 The beautiful lady moved, and unto Statius 
 
 Said, in her womanly manner, " Come with him." 135 
 
 If, Reader, I possessed a longer space 
 
 For writing it, I yet would sing in part 
 
 Of the sweet draught that ne'er would satiate me ; 
 
Purgatorio xxxiii. 219 
 
 But inasmuch as full are all the leaves 
 
 Made ready for this second canticle, ^° 
 
 The curb of art no farther lets me go. 
 From the most holy water I returned 
 
 Regenerate, in the manner of new trees 
 
 That are renewed with a new foliage, 
 Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.. 145 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 I. The Mountain of Purgatory is a 
 vast, conical mountain, rising steep and 
 high from the waters of the Southern 
 Ocean, at a point antipodal to Mount 
 Sion in Jerusalem. In Canto III. 14, 
 Dante speaks of it as 
 
 "The hill 
 That highest tovv'rds the heaven uplifts itself"; 
 
 and in Paradise), XXVI. 139, as 
 
 "The mount that rises highest o'er the wave." 
 
 Around it run seven terraces, on which 
 are punished severally the Seven Deadly 
 Sins. Rough stairways, cut in the rock, 
 lead up from terrace to terrace, and on 
 the summit is the garden of the Ter- 
 restrial Paradise. 
 
 The Seven Sins punished in the 
 Seven Circles are, — 1 . Pride ; 2. Envy ; 
 3. Anger ; 4. Sloth ; 5. Avarice and 
 Prodigality ; 6. Gluttony ; 7. Lust. 
 
 The threefold division of the Pur- 
 gatorio, marked only by more elaborate 
 preludes, or by a natural pause in the 
 action of the poem, is, — 1. From Canto 
 I. to Canto IX.; 2. From Canto IX. 
 to Canto XXVIII. ; 3. From Canto 
 XXVIII. to the end. The first of 
 these divisions describes the region 
 
 lying outside the gate of Purgatory ; 
 the second, the Seven Circles of the 
 mountain ; and the third, the Terres-. 
 trial Paradise on its summit. 
 
 " Traces of belief in a Purgatory," 
 says Mr. Alger, Doctrine of a Future 
 Life, p. 410, "early appear among the 
 Christians. Many of the gravest Fa- 
 thers of the first five centuries naturally 
 conceived and taught, — as is indeed in- 
 trinsically reasonable, — that after death 
 some souls will be punished for their 
 sins until they are cleansed, and then 
 will be released from pain. The Man- 
 ichaeans imagined that all souls, be- 
 fore returning to their native heaven, 
 must be borne first to the moon, where 
 with good waters they would be washed 
 pure from outward filth, and then to 
 the sun, where they would be purged 
 by good fires from every inward stain. 
 After these lunar and solar lustrations, 
 they were fit for the eternal world of 
 light. But the conception of Purgatory 
 as it was held by the early Christians, 
 whether orthodox Fathers or heretical 
 sects, was merely the just and necessary 
 result of applying to the subject of fu- 
 ture punishment the two ethical,, ideas 
 
224 
 
 Notes 
 
 that punishment should partake of de- 
 grees proportioned to guilt, and that it 
 should be restorative 
 
 " Pope Gregory the Great, in the 
 sixth century, — either borrowing some 
 of the more objectionable features of 
 the Purgatory-doctrine previously held 
 by the heathen, or else devising the 
 same things himself from a perception 
 of the striking adaptedness of such no- 
 tions to secure an enviable power to 
 the Church, — constructed, established, 
 and gave working efficiency to the dog- 
 matic scheme of Purgatory ever since 
 firmly defended by the Papal adherents 
 as an integral part of the Roman Catho- 
 lic system. The doctrine as matured 
 and promulgated by Gregory, giving to 
 the representatives of the Church an 
 almost unlimited power over Purgatory, 
 rapidly grew into favor with the clergy, 
 and sank with general conviction into 
 the hopes and fears of the laity." 
 
 9. The Muse " of the beautiful 
 voice," who presided over eloquence 
 and heroic verse. 
 
 11. The nine daughters of Pierus, 
 king of Macedonia, called the Pierides. 
 They challenged the Muses to a trial 
 of skill in singing, and being van- 
 quished were changed by Apollo into 
 magpies. Ovid, Met. V., Maynwar- 
 ing's Tr. : — 
 
 M Beneath their nails 
 Feathers they feel, and on their faces scales ; 
 Their horny beaks at once each other scare, 
 Their arms are plumed, and on their backs they 
 
 bear 
 Pied wings, and flutter in the fleeting air. 
 ChattYing, the scandal of the woods, they fly, 
 And there continue still their clam'rous cry : 
 
 The same their eloquence, as maids or birds, 
 Now only noise, and nothing then but words." 
 
 15. The highest heaven. 
 
 19. The planet Venus. 
 
 20. Chaucer, Knigbtes Tale: — 
 
 " The besy larke, the messager of day, 
 Saleweth in hire song the morwe gray, 
 And firy Phebus riseth up so bright, 
 That all the orient laugheth of the sight." 
 
 23. The stars of the Southern Cross. 
 Figuratively the four cardinal virtues, 
 Justice, Prudence, Fortitude, and Tem- 
 perance. See Canto XXXI. 106 : — 
 
 "We here are Nymphs, and in the Heaven are 
 stars." 
 
 The next line may be interpreted in 
 the same figurative sense. 
 
 Humboldt, Personal Narrative, II. 
 21, Miss Williams's Tr., thus describes 
 his first glimpse of the Southern Cross. 
 
 " The pleasure we felt on discovering 
 the Southern Cross was warmly shared 
 by such of the crew as had lived in the 
 colonies. In the solitude of the seas, 
 we hail a star as a friend from whom 
 we have long been separated. Among 
 the Portuguese and the Spaniards pecu- 
 liar motives seem to increase this feel- 
 ing; a religious sentiment attaches them 
 to a constellation, the form of which 
 recalls the sign of the faith planted by 
 their ancestors in the deserts of the 
 New World. 
 
 " The two great stars which mark 
 the summit and the foot of the Cross 
 having nearly the same right ascen- 
 sion, it follows hence, that the constel- 
 lation is almost perpendicular at the 
 moment when it passes the meridian. 
 This circumstance is known to ever-y 
 
Pttrgatorio /. 
 
 225 
 
 nation that lives beyond the tropics, or 
 in the Southern hemisphere. It has 
 been observed at what hour of the 
 night, in different seasons, the Cross 
 of the South is erect or inclined. It 
 is a time-piece that advances very regu- 
 larly near four minutes a day, and no 
 other group of stars exhibits, to the 
 naked eye, an observation of time so 
 easily made. How often have we 
 heard our guides exclaim in the savan- 
 nahs of Venezuela, or in the desert ex- 
 tending from Lima to Truxillo, ' Mid- 
 night is past, the Cross begins to bend ! ' 
 How often those words reminded us 
 of that affecting scene, where Paul and 
 Virginia, seated near the source of the 
 river of Lataniers, conversed together 
 for the last time, and where the old 
 man, at the sight of the Southern Cross, 
 warns them that it is time to sep- 
 arate." 
 
 24. By the "primal people" Dante 
 does not mean our first parents, but 
 " the early races which inhabited Eu- 
 rope and Asia," says Mr. Barlow, Study 
 of Dante, and quotes in confirmation 
 of his view the following passage from 
 Humboldt's Cosmos, II. : 
 
 " In consequence of the precession 
 of the equinoxes, the starry heavens are 
 continually changing their aspect from 
 every portion of the earth's surface. 
 The early races of mankind beheld in 
 the far north the glorious constellations 
 of the southern hemisphere rise before 
 them, which, after remaining long in- 
 visible, will again appear in those lati- 
 tudes after a lapse of thousands of years. 
 .... The Southern Cross began to 
 
 VOL. II. 29 
 
 become invisible in 52 30' north lati- 
 tude 2900 years before our era, since, 
 according to Galle, this constellation 
 might previously have reached an alti- 
 tude of more than io°. When it dis- 
 appeared from the horizon of the coun- 
 tries of the Baltic, the great Pyramid 
 of Cheops had already been erected 
 more than 500 years." 
 
 30. Iliad, XVIII. : " The Pleiades, 
 and the Hyades, and the strength of 
 Orion, and the Bear, which likewise 
 they call by the appellation of the 
 Wain, which there turns round and 
 watches Orion ; and it alone is de- 
 prived of the baths of Oceanus." 
 
 31. Cato of Utica. "Pythagoras 
 escapes, in the fabulous hell of Dante," 
 says Sir Thomas Brown, Urn Burial, 
 IV., " among that swarm of philoso- 
 phers, wherein, whilst we meet with 
 Plato and Socrates, Cato is found in no 
 lower place than Purgatory." 
 
 In the description of the shield of 
 ^Eneas, jEneid, VIII., Cato is repre- 
 sented as presiding over the good in 
 the Tartarean realms: " And the good 
 apart, Cato dispensing laws to them." 
 This line of Virgil may have suggested 
 to Dante the idea of making Cato the 
 warden of Purgatory. 
 
 In the Convito, IV. 28, he expresses 
 the greatest reverence for him. Mar- 
 cia returning to him in her widow- 
 hood, he says, " symbolizes the noble 
 soul returning to God in old age." 
 And continues : " What man on earth 
 was more worthy to symbolize God, 
 than Cato? Surely none"; — ending 
 the chapter with these words : " In 
 
226 
 
 Notes 
 
 his name it is beautiful to close what 
 I have had to say of the signs of nobil- 
 ity, because in him this nobility dis- 
 plays them all through all ages." 
 
 Here, on the shores of Purgatory, 
 his countenance is adorned with the 
 light of the four stars which are the 
 four virtues, Justice, Prudence, Forti- 
 tude, and Temperance, and it is fore- 
 told of him, that his garments will 
 shine brightly on the last day. And 
 here he is the symbol of Liberty, since, 
 for her sake, to him " not bitter was 
 death in Utica "; and the meaning of 
 Purgatory is spiritual Liberty, or free- 
 dom from sin through purification, 
 " the glorious liberty of the children 
 of God." Therefore in thus selecting 
 the " Divine Cato " for the guardian 
 of this realm, Dante shows himself to 
 have greater freedom than the critics, 
 who accuse him of " a perverse the- 
 ology in saving the soul of an idolater 
 and suicide." 
 
 40. The " blind river " is Lethe, 
 which by sound and not by sight had 
 guided them through the winding cav- 
 ern from the centre of the earth to the 
 surface. Inf. XXXIV. 130. 
 
 42. His beard. Ford, Lady's Trial: 
 
 " Now the down 
 Of softness is exchanged for plumes of age." 
 
 Dante uses the same expression, Inf. 
 XX. 45, and Petrarca, who became 
 gray at an early period, says : 
 
 " In such a tenebrous and narrow cage 
 Were we shut up, and the accustomed plumes 
 I changed betimes, and my first countenance." 
 
 52. Upon this speech of Virgil to 
 
 Cato, Mr. Barlow, Study of Dante, re- 
 marks : " The eighth book of the Te- 
 soro of Brunetto Latini is headed, Qui 
 comincia la Rettorica cbe c y insegna a ben 
 parlare, e di governare citta e popoli. 
 In this art Dante was duly instructed 
 by his loving master, and became the 
 most able orator of his era in Italy. 
 Giov. Villani speaks of him as reto- 
 rico perfetto tanta in dittare e versijicare 
 come in aringhiera parlare. But with- 
 out this record and without acquaint- 
 ance with the poet's political history, 
 knowing nothing of his influence in 
 debates and councils, nor of his credit 
 at foreign courts, we might, from 
 the occasional speeches in the Divina 
 Commedia, be fully assured of the 
 truth of what Villani has said, and 
 that Dante's words and manner were 
 always skilfully adapted to the purpose 
 he had in view, and to the persons 
 whom he addressed. 
 
 " Virgil's speech to the venerable 
 Cato is a perfect specimen of persua- 
 sive eloquence. The sense of personal 
 dignity is here combined with extreme 
 courtesy and respect, and the most flat- 
 tering appeals to the old man's well- 
 known sentiments, his love of liberty, 
 his love of rectitude, and his devoted 
 attachment to Marcia, are interwoven 
 with irresistible art ; but though the 
 resentment of Cato at the approach of 
 the strangers is thus appeased, and he 
 is persuaded to regard them with as 
 much favor as the severity of his char- 
 acter permits, yet he will not have 
 them think that his consent to their • 
 proceeding has been obtained by adu- 
 
Purgatorio i. 
 
 227 
 
 lation, but simply by the assertion of 
 power vouchsafed to them from on 
 high, — 
 
 Ma se donna del Ciel ti muove e regge, 
 Come tu di', non c' e mestier lusinga : 
 Bastiti ben, che per lei mi richegge. 
 
 In this also the consistency of Cato's 
 character is maintained ; he is sensible 
 of the flattery, but disowns its influ- 
 ence." 
 
 yj. See Inf., V. 4. 
 
 78. See Inf., IV. 128. Also Con- 
 vito, IV. 28 : " This the great poet 
 Lucan shadows forth in the second 
 book of his Pharsalia, when he says 
 that Marcia returned to Cato, and 
 besought him and entreated him to 
 take her back in his old age. And by 
 this Marcia is understood the noble 
 soul." 
 
 Lucan, Pbars., II., Rowe's Tr. : — 
 
 " When lo ! the sounding doors are heard to 
 turn, 
 Chaste Martia comes from dead Hortensius' 
 urn. 
 
 Forth from the monument the mournful 
 
 dame 
 With beaten breasts and locks dishevelled 
 
 came ; 
 Then with a pale, dejected, rueful look, 
 Thus pleasing to her former lord she spoke. 
 
 'At length a barren wedlock let me prove, 
 Give me the name without the joys of love ; 
 No more to be abandoned let me come, 
 That Cato's wife may live upon my tomb.' " 
 
 95. A symbol of humility. Ruskin, 
 Mod. Painters, III. 232, says: "There 
 is a still deeper significance in the pas- 
 sage quoted, a little while ago, from 
 
 Homer, describing Ulysses casting him- 
 self down on the rushes and the corn- 
 giving land at the river shore, — the 
 rushes and corn being to him only 
 good for rest and sustenance, — when 
 we compare it with that in which 
 Dante tells us he was ordered to de- 
 scend to the shore of the lake as he 
 entered Purgatory, to gather a rush, 
 and gird himself with it, it being to 
 him the emblem not only of rest, but 
 of humility under chastisement, the 
 rush (or reed) being the only plant 
 which can grow there ; — 'no plant 
 which bears leaves, or hardens its bark, 
 can live on that shore, because it does 
 not yield to the chastisement of its 
 waves.' It cannot but strike the reader 
 singularly how deep and harmonious 
 a significance runs through all these 
 words of Dante, — how every syllable 
 of them, the more we penetrate it, be- 
 comes a seed of farther thought! For 
 follow up this image of the girding 
 with the reed, under trial, and see to 
 whose feet it will lead us. As the 
 grass of the earth, thought of as the 
 herb yielding seed, leads us to the 
 place where our Lord commanded the 
 multitude to sit down by companies 
 upon the green grass ; so the grass of 
 the waters, thought of as sustaining 
 itself among the waters of affliction, 
 leads us to the place where a stem of 
 it was put into our Lord's hand for his 
 sceptre ; and in the crown of thorns, 
 and the rod of reed, was foreshown 
 the everlasting truth of the Christian 
 ages, — that all glory was to be begun 
 in suffering, and all power in humility." 
 
228 
 
 Notes 
 
 115. Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 
 248 : " There is only one more point 
 to be noticed in the Dantesque land- 
 scape ; namely, the feeling entertained 
 by the poet towards the sky. And the 
 love of mountains is so closely con- 
 nected with the love of clouds, the 
 sublimity of both depending much on 
 their association, that, having found 
 Dante regardless of the Carrara moun- 
 tains as seen from San Miniato, we 
 may well expect to find him equally 
 regardless of the clouds in which the 
 sun sank behind them. Accordingly, 
 we find that his only pleasure in the 
 sky depends on its ' white clearness,' 
 — that turning into bianco aspetto di 
 celestro, which is so peculiarly char- 
 acteristic of fine days in Italy. His 
 pieces of pure pale light are always 
 exquisite. In the dawn on the purga- 
 torial mountain, first, in its pale white, 
 he sees the tremolar della marina, — 
 trembling of the sea ; then it becomes 
 vermilion ; and at last, near sunrise, 
 orange. These are precisely the 
 changes of a calm and perfect dawn. 
 The scenery of Paradise begins with 
 ' day added to day,' the light of the 
 sun so flooding the heavens, that 'never 
 
 rain nor river made lake so wide'; 
 and throughout the Paradise all the 
 beauty depends on spheres of light, or 
 stars, never on clouds. But the pit of 
 the Inferno is at first sight obscure, 
 deep, and so cloudy that at its bottom 
 nothing could be seen. When Dante 
 and Virgil reach the marsh in which 
 the souls of those who have been an- 
 gry and sad in their lives are forever 
 plunged, they find it covered with 
 thick fog ; and the condemned souls 
 say to them, 
 
 ' We once were sad, 
 In the sweet air, made gladsome by the sun. 
 Now in these murky settlings are we sad.' 
 
 Even the angel crossing the marsh to 
 help them is annoyed by this bitter 
 marsh smoke, fummo acerbo, and con- 
 tinually sweeps it with his hand from 
 before his face." 
 
 123. Some commentators interpret 
 Ove adorezza, by " where the wind 
 blows." But the blowing of the wind 
 would produce an effect exactly oppo- 
 site to that here described. 
 
 135. ^Eneid, VI.: "When the first 
 is torn off, a second of gold succeeds ; 
 and a twig shoots forth leaves of the 
 same metal." 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 1. It was sunset at Jerusalem, night or the sign of Libra, which is opposite 
 
 on the Ganges, -and morning at the Aries. These scales fall from the hand 
 
 Mountain of Purgatory. of night, or are not above the horizon 
 
 The sun being in Aries, the night by night, when the night exceeds, or 
 
 would " come forth with the scales," is longer than the day. 
 
Ptirgatorio //. 
 
 229 
 
 7. Boccaccio, Decamerone, Prologue 
 to the Third Day, imitates this passage: 
 " The Aurora, as the sun drew nigh, 
 was already beginning to change from 
 vermilion to orange." 
 
 31. Argument used in the sense 
 of means, or appliances, as in Inf. 
 XXXI. 55. 
 
 44. Cervantes says in Don Quixote, 
 Pt. I. ch. 12, that the student Crisos- 
 tomo " had a face like a benediction." 
 
 57. Sackville, in his Induction to the 
 Mirror for Magistrates, says : 
 
 " Whiles Scorpio dreading Sagittarius' dart 
 Whose bow prest bent in right the string had 
 
 slipped, 
 Down slid into the ocean flood apart." 
 
 80. Odyssey, XL, Buckley's Tr. : 
 " But I, meditating in my mind, wished 
 to lay hold of the soul of my departed 
 mother. Thrice indeed I essayed it, 
 and my mind urged me to lay hold of 
 it, but thrice it flew from my hands, like 
 unto a shadow, or even to a dream." 
 
 And JEneid, VI., Davidson's Tr. : 
 " There thrice he attempted to throw 
 his arms around his neck ; thrice the 
 phantom, grasped in vain, escaped his 
 hold, like the fleet gales, or resembling 
 most a fugitive dream." 
 
 91. Casella was a Florentine musi- 
 cian and friend of Dante, who here 
 speaks to him with so much tenderness 
 and affection as to make us regret that 
 nothing more is known of him. Milton 
 alludes to him in his Sonnet to Mr. 
 H. Lawes : — 
 " Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher 
 
 Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing 
 
 Met in the milder shades of Purgatory." 
 
 98. The first three months of the 
 year of Jubilee, 1300. Milman, Hist. 
 Latin Christ., VI. 285, thus describes 
 it : " All Europe was in a frenzy of 
 religious zeal. Throughout the year 
 the roads in the remotest parts of Ger- 
 many, Hungary, Britain, were crowded 
 with pilgrims of all ages, of both sexes. 
 A Savoyard above one hundred years 
 old determined to see the tombs of the 
 Apostles before he died. There were 
 at times two hundred thousand stran- 
 gers at Rome. During the year (no 
 doubt the calculations were loose and 
 vague) the city was visited by millions 
 of pilgrims. At one time, so vast was 
 the press both within and without the 
 walls, that openings were broken for 
 ingress and egress. Many people were 
 trampled down, and perished by suffo- 
 cation Lodgings were exorbitantly 
 
 dear, forage scarce; but the ordinary 
 food of man, bread, meat, wine, and 
 fish, was sold in great plenty and at 
 moderate prices. The oblations were 
 beyond calculation. It is reported by 
 an eyewitness that two priests stood 
 with rakes in their hands sweeping the 
 uncounted gold and silver from the 
 altars. Nor was this tribute, like of- 
 ferings or subsidies for Crusades, to be 
 devoted to special uses, the accoutre- 
 ments, provisions, freight of armies. 
 It was entirely at the free and irrespon- 
 sible disposal of the Pope. Christen- 
 dom of its own accord was heaping at 
 the Pope's feet this extraordinary cus- 
 tom ; and receiving back the gift of 
 pardon and everlasting life." 
 See also Inf. XVIIL, Note 29. 
 
230 
 
 Notes 
 
 ioo. The sea-shore of Ostia at the 
 mouth of the Tiber, where the souls 
 of those who were saved assembled, 
 and were received by the Celestial 
 Pilot, who transported them to the 
 island of Purgatory. Minutius Felix, 
 a Roman lawyer of the third century, 
 makes it the scene of his Qctavius, 
 and draws this pleasant picture of 
 the sands and the sea. Reeves's Tr., 
 
 P- 37 = — 
 
 "It was vacation-time, and that gave 
 me aloose from my business at the bar ; 
 for it was the season after the summer's 
 heat, when autumn promised fair, and 
 put on the face of temperate. We set 
 out, therefore, in the morning early, 
 and as we were walking upon the sea- 
 shore, and a kindly breeze fanned and 
 refreshed our limbs, and the yielding 
 sand softly submitted to our feet and 
 made it delicious travelling, Cascilius 
 on a sudden espied the statue of Sera- 
 pis, and, according to the vulgar mode 
 of superstition, raised his hand to his 
 mouth, and paid his adoration in kisses. 
 Upon which Octavius, addressing him- 
 self to me, said : ' It is not well done, 
 my brother Marcus, thus to leave your 
 inseparable companion in the depth of 
 
 Vulgar darkness, and to suffer him, in 
 so clear a day, to stumble upon stones; 
 stones, indeed, of figure, and anointed 
 with oil, and crowned ; but stones, 
 however, still they are; — for you can- 
 not but be sensible that your permitting 
 so foul an error in your friend redounds 
 no less to your disgrace than his.' 
 This discourse of his held us through 
 half the city ; and now we began to 
 find ourselves upon the free and open 
 shore. There the gently washing 
 waves had spread the extremest sands 
 into the order of an artificial walk ; 
 and as the sea always expresses some 
 roughness in his looks, even when the 
 winds are still, although he did not roll 
 in foam and angry surges to the shore, 
 yet were we much delighted, as we 
 walked upon the edges of the water, to 
 see the crisping, frizzly waves glide in 
 snaky folds, one while playing against 
 our feet, and then again retiring and 
 lost in the devouring ocean. Softly, 
 then, and calmly as the sea about us, 
 we travelled on, and kept upon the 
 brim of the gently declining shore, be- 
 guiling the way with our stories." 
 
 112. This is the first line of the 
 second canzone of the Convito. 
 
 CANTO III 
 
 15. So in Paradiso, XXVI. 139 : — ing the Bay of Naples. The inscrip- 
 
 " The mount that rises highest o'er the sea." tion upon it is: — 
 
 27. The tomb of Virgil is on the Mantua me genuit: Calabri rapuere: tenet nunc 
 
 promontory of Pausilippo, overlook- Parthenope : cecini pascua, rura, duces. 
 
Pur gator io m. 
 
 231 
 
 " The epitaph," says Eustace, Clas- 
 sical Tour, I. 499, "which, though not 
 genuine, is yet ancient, was inscribed 
 by order of the Duke of Pescolangiano, 
 then proprietor of the place, on a 
 marble slab placed in the side of the 
 rock opposite the entrance of the tomb, 
 where it still remains." 
 
 Forsyth, Italy, p. 378, says : "Vir- 
 gil's tomb is so called, I believe, on the 
 single authority of Donatus. Donatus 
 places it at the right distance from 
 Naples, but on the wrong side of the 
 city ; and even there he omits the 
 grotto of Posilipo, which not being so 
 deep in his time as the two last exca- 
 vations have left it, must have opened 
 precisely at his tomb. Donatus, too, 
 gives, for Virgil's own composition, an 
 epitaph on the cliff now rejected as a 
 forgery. And who is this Donatus ? 
 — an obscure grammarian, or rather his 
 counterfeit. The structure itself re- 
 sembles a ruined pjgeon-house, where 
 the numerous columbaria would indicate 
 a family-sepulchre : but who should 
 repose in the tomb of Virgil, but Vir- 
 gil alone ? Visitors of every nation, 
 kings and princes, have scratched their 
 names on the stucco of this apocryphal 
 ruin, but the poet's awful name seems 
 to have deterred them from versifying 
 here." 
 
 37. Be satisfied with knowing that 
 a thing is, without asking why it is. 
 These were distinguished in scholastic 
 language as the Demonstratio quia, and 
 the Demonstratio propter quid. 
 
 49. Places on the mountainous sea- 
 side road from Genoa to Pisa, known 
 
 as the Riviera di Levant e. Of this, 
 Mr. Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 243, 
 says : — 
 
 "The similes by which he illus- 
 trates the steepness of that ascent are all 
 taken from the Riviera of Genoa, now 
 traversed by a good carriage road under 
 the name of the Cornice ; but as this 
 road did not exist in Dante's time, and 
 the steep precipices and promontories 
 were then probably traversed by foot- 
 paths, which, as they necessarily passed 
 in many places over crumbling and 
 slippery limestone, were doubtless not 
 a little dangerous, and as in the manner 
 they commanded the bays of sea below, 
 and lay exposed to the full blaze of the 
 southeastern sun, they corresponded 
 precisely to the situation of the path by 
 which he ascends above the purgatorial 
 sea, the image could not possibly have 
 been taken from a better source for the 
 fully conveying his idea to the reader : 
 nor, by the way, is there reason to dis- 
 credit, in this place, his powers of 
 climbing; for, with his usual accuracy, 
 he has taken the angle of the path 
 for us, saying it was considerable more 
 than forty -five. Now a continuous 
 mountain slope of forty-five degrees is 
 already quite unsafe either for ascent or 
 descent, except by zigzag paths ; and 
 a greater slope than this could not be 
 climbed, straightforward, but by help 
 of crevices or jags in the rock, and 
 great physical exertion besides." 
 
 Mr. Norton, Travel and Study, p. 1, 
 thus describes the Riviera: "The Var 
 forms the geographical boundary be- 
 tween France and Italy ; but it is not 
 
232 
 
 Notes 
 
 till Nice is left behind, and the first 
 height of the Riviera is surmounted, 
 that the real Italy begins. Here the 
 hills close round at the north, and sud- 
 denly, as the road turns at the top of a 
 long ascent, the Mediterranean appears 
 far below, washing the feet of the 
 mountains that form the coast, and 
 stretching away to the Southern hori- 
 zon. The line of the shore is of ex- 
 traordinary beauty. Here an abrupt 
 cliff rises from the sea ; here bold and 
 broken masses of rock jut out into it ; 
 here the hills, their gray sides terraced 
 for vineyards, slope gently down to the 
 water's edge ; here they stretch into 
 little promontories covered with orange 
 and olive-trees. 
 
 " One of the first of these promon- 
 tories is that of Capo Sant' Ospizio. 
 A. close grove of olives half conceals 
 the old castle on its extreme point. 
 With the afternoon sun full upon it, 
 the trees palely glimmering as their 
 leaves move in the light air, the sea so 
 blue and smooth as to be like a darker 
 sky, and not even a ripple upon the 
 beach, it seems as if this were the very 
 home of summer and of repose. It is 
 remote and secluded from the stir and 
 noise of the world. No road is seen 
 leading to it, and one looks down upon 
 the solitary castle and wonders what 
 stories of enchantment and romance 
 belong to a ruin that appears as if made 
 for their dwelling-place. It is a scene 
 out of that Italy which is the home of 
 the imagination, and which becomes 
 the Italy of memory. 
 
 "As the road winds down to the sea, 
 
 it passes under a high isolated peak, on 
 which stands Esa, built as a city of 
 refuge against pirates and Moors. A 
 little farther on, 
 
 ' Its Roman strength Turbia showed 
 In ruins by the mountain road,' — 
 
 not only recalling the ancient times, 
 when it was the boundary city of Italy 
 and Gaul, and when Augustus erected 
 his triumphal arch within it, but as- 
 sociated also with Dante and the steep 
 of Purgatory. Beneath lies Monaco, 
 glowing ' like a gem ' on its oval rock, 
 the sea sparkling around it, and the 
 long western rays of the sinking sun 
 lingering on its little palace, clinging 
 to its church belfry and its gray wall, 
 as if loath to leave them." 
 
 In the Casa Magni, on the sea-shore 
 near Lerici, Shelley once lived. He 
 was returning thither from Leghorn, 
 when he perished in a sudden storm at 
 sea. 
 
 67. After they had gone a mile, they 
 were still a stone's throw distant. 
 
 82. See Convito, I. 10. 
 
 112. Manfredi, king of Apulia and 
 Sicily, was a natural son of the Em- 
 peror Frederick the Second. He was 
 slain at the battle of Benevento, in 
 1265; one of the great and decisive 
 battles of the Guelphs and Ghibellines, 
 the Guelph or Papal forces being com- 
 manded by Charles of Anjou, and the 
 Ghibellines or Imperialists by Man- 
 fredi. 
 
 Malispini, Storia, ch. 187, thus de- 
 scribes his death and burial : " Man- 
 fredi, being left with few followers, 
 behaved like a valiant gentleman who 
 
Ptirgatorio hi. 
 
 233 
 
 preferred to die in battle rather than 
 to escape with shame. And putting 
 on his helmet, which had on it a silver 
 eagle for a crest, this eagle fell on the 
 saddle-bow before him; and seeing this 
 he was greatly disturbed, and said in 
 Latin to the barons who were near 
 him, 'Hoc est signum Dei; for this crest 
 I fastened on with my own hands in 
 such a way that it could not fall.' But 
 he was not discouraged, and took heart, 
 and went into battle like any other 
 baron, without the royal insignia, in 
 order not to be recognized. But short 
 while it lasted, for his forces were al- 
 ready in flight ; and they were routed 
 and Manfredi slain in the middle of the 
 enemy ; and they were driven into the 
 town by the soldiers of King Charles, 
 for it was now night, and they lost 
 the city of Benevento. And many of 
 Manfredi's barons were made pris- 
 oners, among whom were the Count 
 Giordano, Messer Piero Asino degli 
 Uberti, and many others, whom King 
 Charles sent captive into Provence, and 
 there had them put to death in prison ; 
 and he imprisoned many other Ger- 
 mans in different parts of the kingdom. 
 And a few days afterwards the wife of 
 Manfredi and his children and his sis- 
 ter, who were in Nocera de' Sardini 
 in Apulia, were taken prisoners by 
 Charles ; these died in prison. And 
 for more than three days they made 
 search after Manfredi ; for he could 
 not be found, nor was it known if he 
 were dead, or a prisoner, or had es- 
 caped ; because he had not worn his 
 royal robes in the battle. And after- 
 
 VOL. II. 30 
 
 wards he was recognized by one of 
 his own camp-followers, from certain 
 marks upon his person, in the middle of 
 the battle-field ; and he threw him across 
 an ass, and came shouting, ' Who will 
 buy Manfredi ? ' for which a baron of 
 the king beat him with a cane. And 
 the body of Manfredi being brought to 
 King Charles, he assembled all the 
 barons who were prisoners, and asked 
 each one if that was Manfredi ; and 
 timidly they answered yes. Count 
 Giordano smote himself in the face 
 with his hands, weeping and crying, 
 ' O my lord ! ' whereupon he was much 
 commended by the French, and certain 
 Bretons besought that he might have 
 honorable burial. Answered the king 
 and said, * I would do it willingly, if 
 he were not excommunicated'; and 
 on that account he would not have 
 him laid in consecrated ground, but he 
 was buried at the foot of the bridge of 
 Benevento, and each one of the army 
 threw a stone upon his grave, so that a 
 great pile was made. But afterwards, 
 it is said, by command of the Pope, the 
 Bishop of Cosenza took him from that 
 grave, and sent him out of the king- 
 dom, because it was Church land. 
 And he was buried by the river Verde, 
 at the confines of the kingdom and the 
 Campagna. This battle was on a Fri- 
 day, the last day of February, in the 
 year one thousand two hundred and 
 sixty-five." 
 
 Villani, who in his account of the 
 battle copies Malispini almost literally, 
 gives in another chapter, VI. 46, the 
 following portrait of Manfredi ; but it 
 
234 
 
 Notes 
 
 must be remembered that Villani was 
 a Guelph, and Manfredi a Ghibel- 
 line. 
 
 " King Manfredi had for his mother 
 a beautiful lady of the family of the 
 Marquises of Lancia in Lombardy, 
 with whom the Emperor had an in- 
 trigue, and was beautiful in person, and 
 like his father and more than his father 
 was given to dissipation of all kinds. 
 He was a musician and singer, delight- 
 ed in the company of buffoons and 
 courtiers and beautiful concubines, and 
 was always clad in green ; he was 
 generous and courteous, and of good 
 demeanor, so that he was much be- 
 loved and gracious ; but his life was 
 wholly epicurean, hardly caring for 
 God or the saints, but for the delights 
 of the body. He was an enemy of 
 holy Church, and of priests and monks, 
 confiscating churches as his father had 
 done ; and a wealthy gentleman was he, 
 both from the treasure which he in- 
 herited from the Emperor, and from 
 King Conrad, his brother, and from his 
 own kingdom, which was ample and 
 fruitful, and which, so long as he lived, 
 notwithstanding all the wars he had 
 
 with the Church, he kept in good con- 
 dition, so that it rose greatly in wealth 
 and power, both by sea and by land." 
 
 This battle of Benevento is the 
 same as that mentioned Inf. XXVIII. 
 16: — 
 
 " At Ceperano, where a renegade 
 Was each Apulian." 
 
 113. Constance, wife of the Em- 
 peror Henry the Sixth. 
 
 115. His daughter Constance, who 
 was married to Peter of Aragon, and 
 was the mother of Frederic of Sicily 
 and of James of Aragon. 
 
 124. The Bishop of Cosenza and 
 Pope Clement the Fourth. 
 
 131. The name of the river Verde 
 reminds one of the old Spanish ballad, 
 particularly when one recalls the fact 
 that Manfredi had in his army a band 
 of Saracens : — 
 
 " Rio Verde, Rio Verde, 
 
 Many a corpse is bathed in thee, 
 
 Both of Moors and eke of Christians, 
 
 Slain with swords most cruelly." 
 
 132. Those who died "in contu- 
 mely of holy Church," or under ex- 
 communication, were buried with ex- 
 tinguished and inverted torches. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 6. Plato's doctrine of three souls : 
 the Vegetative in the liver ; the Sensa- 
 tive in the heart ; and the Intellectual 
 in the brain. See Convito, IV. 7. 
 
 15. See Convito, II. 14, quoted Par. 
 XIV. Note 86. 
 
 25. Sanleo, a fortress on a mountain 
 in the duchy of Urbino ; Noli, a town 
 in the Genoese territory, by the sea- 
 side ; Bismantova, a mountain in the 
 duchy of Modena. 
 
 36. Like Christian going up the hill 
 
Purgatorio v. 
 
 235 
 
 Difficulty in Bunyan, Pilgrim's Pro- 
 gress : " I looked then after Christian 
 to see him go up the hill, where I per- 
 ceived he fell from running to going, 
 and from going to clambering upon his 
 hands and knees, because of the steep- 
 ness of the place." 
 
 43. More than forty-five degrees. 
 
 61. If the sun were in Gemini, or 
 if we were in the month of May, you 
 would see the sun still farther to the 
 north. 
 
 64. Rubeccbio is generally rendered 
 red or ruddy. But Jacopo dalla Lana 
 says: "Rubeccbio in the Tuscan tongue 
 signifies an indented mill-wheel." This 
 interpretation certainly renders the im- 
 age more distinct. The several signs 
 of the Zodiac are so many cogs in the 
 great wheel ; and the wheel is an im- 
 age which Dante more than once ap- 
 plies to the celestial bodies. 
 
 71. The Ecliptic. See Inf. XVII., 
 Note 107. 
 
 73. This, the Mountain of Purga- 
 tory ; and that, Mount Zion. 
 
 83. The Seven Stars of Ursa Major, 
 the North Star. 
 
 109. Compare Thomson's descrip- 
 tion of the " pleasing land of drowsy- 
 head," in the Castle of Indolence : — 
 
 " And there a season atween June and May, 
 Half prankt with spring, with summer half 
 
 imbrowned, 
 A listless climate made, where, sooth to say, 
 No living wight could work, ne cared even 
 
 for play." 
 
 123. "He loved also in life," says 
 Arrivabene, Commento Storico, 584, "a 
 certain Belacqua, an excellent maker of 
 musical instruments." 
 
 Benvenuto da Imola says of him : 
 " He was a Florentine who made gui- 
 tars and other musical instruments. 
 He carved and ornamented the necks 
 and heads of the guitars with great care, 
 and sometimes also played. Hence 
 Dante, who delighted in music, knew 
 him intimately." This seems to be all 
 that is known of Belacqua. 
 
 133. Measure for Measure, II. 2: — 
 
 " True prayers 
 That shall be up at heaven, and enter there 
 Ere sunrise ; prayers from preserved souls, 
 From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
 To nothing temporal." 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 1. There is an air of reality about 
 this passage, like some personal reminis- 
 cence of street gossip, which gives per- 
 haps a little credibility to the other- 
 wise incredible anecdotes of Dante 
 told by Sacchetti and others; — such as 
 those of the ass-driver whom he beat, 
 
 and the blacksmith whose tools he 
 threw into the street far singing his 
 verses amiss, and the woman who 
 pointed him out to her companions as 
 the man who had been in Hell and 
 brought back tidings of it. 
 
 38. Some editions read in this line 
 
2$6 
 
 Notes 
 
 mezza notte, midnight, instead of prima 
 notte, early nightfall. 
 
 Of meteors Brunetto Latini, Tresor, 
 I. pt. 3, ch. 107, writes: " Likewise it 
 often comes to pass that a dry vapor, 
 when it has mounted so high that it 
 takes fire from the heat which is above, 
 falls, when thus kindled, towards the 
 earth, until it is spent and extinguished, 
 whence some people think it is a drag- 
 on or a star which falls." 
 
 Milton, Parad. Lost, IV. 556, de- 
 scribing the flight of Uriel, says : — 
 
 " Swift as a shooting star 
 In Autumn thwarts the night, when vapors fired 
 Impress the air, and show the mariner 
 From what point of his compass to beware 
 Impetuous winds." 
 
 66. Shakespeare's " war 'twixt will 
 and will not," and " letting I dare not 
 wait upon I would." 
 
 67. This is Jacopo del Cassero of 
 Fano, in the region between Romagna 
 and the kingdom of Naples, then ruled 
 by Charles de Valois (Charles Lack- 
 land). He was waylaid and murdered 
 at Oriago, between Venice and Padua, 
 by Azzone the Third of Este. 
 
 74. Leviticus, xvii. 2: "The life of 
 the flesh is in the blood." 
 
 75. Among the Paduans, who are 
 called Antenori, because their city 
 was founded by Antenor of Troy. 
 Brunetto Latini, Tresor, I. ch. 39, says: 
 " Then Antenor and Priam departed 
 thence, with a great company of peo- 
 ple, and went to the Marca Trevi- 
 sana, not far from Venice, and there 
 they built another city which is 
 called Padua, where lies the body of 
 
 Antenor, and his sepulchre is still 
 there." 
 
 79. La Mira is on the Brenta, or one 
 of its canals, in the fen-lands between 
 Padua and Venice. 
 
 88. Buonconte was a son of Guido 
 di Montefeltro, and lost his life in the 
 battle of Campaldino in the Val d' Arno. 
 His body was never found ; Dante 
 imagines its fate. 
 
 Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 252, re- 
 marks : — 
 
 " Observe, Buonconte, as he dies, 
 crosses his arms over his breast, press- 
 ing them together, partly in his pain, 
 partly in prayer. His body thus lies 
 by the river shore, as on a sepul- 
 chral monument, the arms folded into 
 a cross. The rage of the river, under 
 the influence of the evil demon, unlooses 
 this cross, dashing the body supinely 
 away, and rolling it over and over by 
 bank and bottom. Nothing can be 
 truer to the action of a stream in fury 
 than these lines. And how desolate is 
 it all ! The lonely flight, — the grisly 
 wound, " pierced in the throat," — 
 the death, without help or pity, — 
 only the name of Mary on the lips, 
 — and the cross folded over the heart. 
 Then the rage of the demon and the 
 river, — the noteless grave, — and, at 
 last, even she who had been most trust- 
 ed forgetting him, — 
 
 * Giovanna nor none else have care for me.' 
 There is, I feel assured, nothing else 
 like it in all the range of poetry ; a 
 faint and harsh echo of it, only, exists 
 in one Scottish ballad, 'The Twa Cor- 
 bies.'" 
 
Purgatorio r. 
 
 237 
 
 89. The wife of Buonconte. 
 92. Ampere, Voyage Dantesque, p. 
 241, thus speaks of the battle of Cam- 
 paldino: "In this plain of Campaldino, 
 now so pleasant and covered with vine- 
 yards, took place, on the nth of June, 
 1289, a rude combat between the 
 Guelphs of Florence and the fuorusciti 
 Ghibellines, aided by the Aretines. 
 Dante fought in the front rank of the 
 Florentine cavalry ; for it must needs 
 be that this man, whose life was so 
 complete, should have been a soldier, 
 before being a theologian, diplomatist, 
 and poet. He was then twenty-four 
 years of age. He himself described 
 this battle in a letter, of which only a 
 few lines remain. ' At the battle of 
 Campaldino,' he says, ' the Ghibelline 
 party was routed and almost wholly 
 slain. I was there, a novice in arms ; 
 I had great fear, and at last great joy, on 
 account of the divers chances of the 
 light.' One must not see in this phrase 
 the confession of cowardice, which 
 could have no place in a soul tempered 
 like that of Alighieri. The only fear 
 he had was lest the battle should be 
 lost. In fact, the Florentines at first 
 seemed beaten; their infantry fell back 
 before the Aretine cavalry ; but this 
 first advantage of the enemy was its 
 destruction, by dividing its forces. 
 These were the vicissitudes of the 
 battle to which Dante alludes, and 
 which at first excited his fears, and 
 then caused his joy." 
 
 96. The Convent of Camaldoli, thus 
 described by Forsyth, Italy, p. 117: — 
 
 "We now crossed the beautiful vale 
 
 of Prato Vecchio, rode round the mod- 
 est arcades of the town, and arrived 
 at the lower convent of Camaldoli, just 
 at shutting of the gates. The sun was 
 set and every object sinking into re- 
 pose, except the stream which roared 
 among the rocks, and the convent-bells 
 which were then ringing the Angelus. 
 
 " This monastery is secluded from 
 the approach of woman in a deep, nar- 
 row, woody dell. Its circuit of dead 
 walls, built on the conventual plan, 
 gives it an aspect of confinement and 
 defence ; yet this is considered as a 
 privileged retreat, where the rule of the 
 order relaxes its rigor, and no monks 
 can reside but the sick or the super- 
 annuated, the dignitary or the steward, 
 the apothecary or the bead -turner. 
 Here we passed the night, and next 
 morning rode up by the steep traverses 
 to the Santo Eremo, where Saint Ro- 
 mualdo lived and established 
 
 de' tacenti cenobiti il coro, 
 L' arcane penitenze, ed i digiuni 
 Al Camaldoli suo. 
 
 " The Eremo is a city of hermits, • 
 walled round, and divided into streets 
 of low, detached cells. Each cell con- 
 sists of two or three naked rooms, built 
 exactly on the plan of the Saint's own 
 tenement, which remains just as Ro- 
 mualdo left it eight hundred years ago; 
 now too sacred and too damp for a 
 mortal tenant. 
 
 " The unfeeling Saint has here es- 
 tablished a rule which anticipates the 
 pains of Purgatory. No stranger can 
 behold without emotion a number of 
 noble, interesting young men bound to 
 
2 5 8 
 
 Notes 
 
 stand erect chanting at choir for eight 
 hours a day ; their faces pale, their 
 heads shaven, their beards shaggy, their 
 backs raw, their legs swollen, and their 
 feet bare. With this horrible insti- 
 tute the climate conspires in severity, 
 and selects from society the best con- 
 stitutions. The sickly novice is cut 
 off in one or two winters, the rest are 
 subject to dropsy, and few arrive at 
 old age." 
 
 97. Where the Archiano loses its 
 name by flowing into the Arno. 
 
 104. Epistle of Jude, 9 : "Yet Mi- 
 chael the archangel, when contending 
 with the devil he disputed about the 
 body of Moses, durst not bring against 
 him a railing accusation, but said, The 
 Lord rebuke thee." 
 
 And Jeremy Taylor, speaking of the 
 pardon of sin, says : " And while it is 
 disputed between Christ and Christ's 
 enemy who shall be Lord, the pardon 
 fluctuates like the wave, striving to 
 climb the rock, and is washed off like 
 its own retinue, and it gets possession 
 *by time and uncertainty, by difficulty 
 and the degrees of a hard progression." 
 
 109. Brunetto Latini, Tresor, I. ch. 
 107 : " Then arise vapors like unto 
 smoke, and mount aloft in air, where 
 little by little they gather and grow, 
 until they become dark and dense, so 
 that they take away the sight of the 
 sun ; and these are the clouds ; but 
 they never are so dark as to take away 
 the light of day ; for the sun shines 
 through them, as if it were a candle 
 in a lantern, which shines outwardly, 
 though it cannot itself be seen. And 
 
 when the cloud has waxed great, so 
 that it can no longer support the abun- 
 dance of water, which is there as va- 
 por, it must needs fall to earth, and 
 that is the rain." 
 
 112. In Ephesians ii. 2, the evil 
 spirit is called " the prince of the 
 power of the air." 
 
 Compare also Inf. XXIII. 16, 
 
 " If anger upon evil will be grafted." 
 
 and Inf. XXXI. 55, 
 
 " For where the argument of intellect 
 Is added unto evil will and power, 
 No rampart can the people make against it." 
 
 116. This Pratomagno is the same 
 as the Prato Vecchio mentioned in 
 Note 96. The " great yoke " is the 
 ridge of the Apennines. 
 
 Dr. Barlow, Study of Dante, p. 199, 
 has this note on the passage: — 
 
 " When rain falls from the upper 
 region of the air, we observe at a con- 
 siderable altitude a thin light veil, or 
 a hazy turbidness; as this increases, the 
 lower clouds become diffused in it, and 
 form a uniform sheet. Such is the stra- 
 tus cloud described by Dante (v. 115) 
 as covering the valley from Pratomagno 
 to the ridge on the opposite side above 
 Camaldoli. This cloud is a widely 
 extended horizontal sheet of vapor, in- 
 creasing from below, and lying on or 
 near the earth's surface. It is prop- 
 erly the cloud of night, and first ap- 
 pears about sunset, usually in autumn; 
 it comprehends creeping mists and fogs 
 which ascend from the bottom of val- 
 leys, and from the surface of lakes and 
 rivers, in consequence of air colder 
 
Purgatorio v. 
 
 239 
 
 than that of the surface descending and 
 mingling with it, and from the air over 
 the adjacent land cooling down more 
 rapidly than that over the water, from 
 which increased evaporation is taking 
 place." 
 
 118. Milton, Par ad. Lost, IV. 500: 
 " As Jupiter 
 On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds 
 That bring May-flowers." 
 
 1 26. His arms crossed upon his 
 breast. 
 
 134. Ampere, Voyage Dantesque, 255: 
 " Who was this unhappy and perhaps 
 guilty woman ? The commentators 
 say that she was of the family of Tolo- 
 mei, illustrious at Siena. Among the 
 different versions of her story there is 
 one truly terrible. The outraged hus- 
 band led his wife to an isolated castle 
 in the Maremma of Siena, and there 
 shut himself up with his victim, wait- 
 ing his vengeance from the poisoned 
 atmosphere of this solitude. Breathing 
 with her the air which was killing her, 
 he saw her slowly perish. This fu- 
 neral tete-a-tete found him always im- 
 passive, until, according to the ex- 
 pression of Dante, the Maremma had 
 unmade what he had once loved. This 
 melancholy story might well have no 
 other foundation than the enigma of 
 Dante's lines, and the terror with which 
 this enigma may have struck the imagi- 
 nations of his contemporaries. 
 
 " However this may be, one cannot 
 prevent an involuntary shudder, when, 
 showing you a pretty little brick pal- 
 ace [at Siena], they say, * That is the 
 house of the Pia.' " 
 
 Benvenuto da Imola gives a different 
 version of the story, and says that by 
 command of the husband she was 
 thrown from the window of her pal- 
 ace into the street, and died of the 
 fall. 
 
 Bandello, the Italian Novelist, Pt. I. 
 Nov. 12, says that the narrative is true, 
 and gives minutely the story of the 
 lovers, with such embellishments as his 
 imagination suggested. 
 
 Ugo Foscolo, Edinb. Review, XXIX. 
 458, speaks thus : — 
 
 " Shakespeare unfolds the character 
 of his persons, and presents them under 
 all the variety of forms which they can 
 naturally assume. He surrounds them 
 with all the splendor of his imagina- 
 tion, and bestows on them that full 
 and minute reality which his creative 
 genius could alone confer. Of all 
 tragic poets, he most amply develops 
 character. On the other hand, Dante, 
 if compared not only to Virgil, the 
 most sober of poets, but even to Taci- 
 tus, will be found never to employ 
 more than a stroke or two of his pen- 
 cil, which he aims at imprinting almost 
 insensibly on the hearts of his readers. 
 Virgil has related the story of Eury- 
 dice in two hundred verses ; Dante, in 
 sixty verses, has finished his master- 
 piece, — the tale of Francesca da Ri- 
 mini. The history of Desdemona has 
 a parallel in the following passage of 
 Dante. Nello della Pietra had es- 
 poused a lady of noble family at Sien- 
 na, named Madonna Pia. Her beauty 
 was the admiration of Tuscany, and 
 excited in the heart of her husband a 
 
240 
 
 Notes 
 
 jealousy, which, exasperated by false 
 reports and groundless suspicions, at 
 length drove him to the desperate res- 
 olution of Othello. It is difficult to 
 decide whether the lady was quite in- 
 nocent ; but so Dante represents her. 
 Her husband brought her into the 
 Maremma, which, then as now, was 
 a district destructive to health. He 
 never told his unfortunate wife' the 
 reason of her banishment to so dan- 
 gerous a country. He did not deign 
 to utter complaint or accusation. He 
 lived with her alone, in cold silence, 
 without answering her questions, or 
 listening to her remonstrances. He 
 patiently waited till the pestilential air 
 should destroy the health of this young 
 lady. In a few months she died. 
 Some chroniclers, indeed, tell us, that 
 Nello used the dagger to hasten her 
 death. It is certain that he survived 
 
 her, plunged in sadness and perpetual 
 silence. Dante had, in this incident, 
 all the materials of an ample and very 
 poetical narrative. But he bestows on 
 it only four verses." 
 
 For a description of the Maremma, 
 see Inf. XIII. Note 9. 
 
 Also Rogers, Italy, near the end : — 
 
 " Where the path 
 Is lost in rank luxuriance, and to breathe 
 Is to inhale distemper, if not death ; 
 Where the wild-boar retreats, when hunters 
 
 chafe, 
 And, when the day-star flames, the buffalo- 
 herd 
 Afflicted plunge into the stagnant pool, 
 Nothing discerned amid the water-leaves, 
 Save here and there the likeness of a head, 
 Savage, uncouth ; where none in human shape 
 Come, save the herdsman, levelling his length 
 Of lance with many a cry, or Tartar-like 
 Urging his steed along the distant hill, 
 As from a danger." 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 1. Zara was a game of chance, 
 played with three dice. 
 
 13. Messer Benincasa of Arezzo, 
 who, while Vicario del Podesta, or 
 Judge, in Siena, sentenced to death a 
 brother and a nephew of Ghino di 
 Tacco for highway robbery. He was 
 afterwards an Auditor of the Ruota in 
 Rome, where, says Benvenuto, " one 
 day as he sat in the tribunal, in the 
 midst of a thousand people, Ghino di 
 Tacco appeared like Scsvola, terrible 
 and nothing daunted; and having seized 
 
 Benincasa, he plunged his dagger into 
 his heart, leaped from the balcony, and 
 disappeared in the midst of the crowd 
 stupefied with terror." 
 
 14. This terrible Ghino di Tacco 
 was a nobleman of Asinalunga in the 
 territory of Siena; one of those splen- 
 did fellows, who, from some real or 
 imaginary wrong done them, take to 
 the mountains and highways to avenge 
 themselves on society. He is the true 
 type of the traditionary stage bandit, 
 the magnanimous melodramatic hero, 
 
Purgatorio vi. 
 
 241 
 
 who utters such noble sentiments and 
 commits such atrocious deeds. 
 
 Benvenuto is evidently dazzled and 
 fascinated by him, and has to throw 
 two Romans into the scale to do him 
 justice. His account is as follows: — 
 " Reader, I would have thee know 
 that Ghino was not, as some write, so 
 infamous as to be a great assassin and 
 highway robber. For this Ghino di 
 Tacco was a wonderful man, tall, mus- 
 cular, black-haired, and strong; as agile 
 as Scasvola, as prudent and liberal as 
 Papirius Cursor. He was of the no- 
 bles of La Fratta, in the county of Sie- 
 na ; who, being forcibly banished by 
 the Counts of Santafiore, held the noble 
 castle of Radicofani against the Pope. 
 With his marauders he made many and 
 great prizes, so that no one could go 
 safely to Rome or elsewhere through 
 those regions. Yet hardly any one fell 
 into his hands, who did not go away 
 
 contented, and love and praise him 
 
 If a merchant were taken prisoner, 
 Ghino asked him kindly how much he 
 was able to give him ; and if he said five 
 hundred pieces of gold, he kept three 
 hundred for himself, and gave back two 
 hundred, saying, ' I wish you to go on 
 with your business and to thrive.' If 
 it were a rich and fat priest, he kept 
 his handsome mule, and gave him a 
 wretched horse. And if it were a poor 
 scholar, going to study, he gave him 
 some money, and exhorted him to good 
 conduct and proficiency in learning." 
 
 Boccaccio, Decamerone, X. 2, relates 
 the following adventure of Ghino di 
 Tacco and the Abbot of Cligni. 
 
 VOL. II. 31 
 
 " Ghino di Tacco was a man fa- 
 mous for his bold and insolent robberies, 
 who being banished from Siena, and at 
 utter enmity with the Counts di Santa 
 Fiore, caused the town of Radicofani 
 to rebel against the Church, and lived 
 there whilst his gang robbed all who 
 passed that way. Now when Boniface 
 the Eighth was Pope, there came to 
 court the Abbot of Cligni, reputed to 
 be one of the richest prelates in the 
 world, and having debauched his stom- 
 ach with high living, he was advised 
 by his physicians to go to the baths of 
 Siena, as a certain cure. And, having 
 leave from the Pope, he set out with 
 a goodly train of coaches, carriages, 
 horses, and servants, paying no respect 
 to the rumors concerning this robber. 
 Ghino was apprised of his coming, and 
 took his measures accordingly ; when, 
 without the loss of a man, he enclosed 
 the Abbot and his whole retinue in a 
 narrow defile, where it was impossible 
 for them to escape. This being done, 
 he sent one of his principal fellows to 
 the Abbot with his service, requesting 
 the favor of him to alight and visit 
 him at his castle. Upon which the 
 Abbot replied, with a great deal of pas- 
 sion, that he had nothing to do with 
 Ghino, but that his resolution was to 
 go on, and he would see who dared to 
 stop him. * My Lord,' quoth the 
 man, with a great deal of humility, 
 ' you are now in a place where all ex- 
 communications are kicked out of doors; 
 then please to oblige my master in 
 this thing ; it will be your best way.' 
 Whilst they were talking together, the 
 
242 
 
 Notes 
 
 place was surrounded with highway- 
 men, and the Abbot, seeing himself a 
 prisoner, went with a great deal of ill- 
 will with the fellow to the castle, fol- 
 lowed by his whole retinue, where he 
 dismounted, and was lodged, by Ghino's 
 appointment, in a poor, dark little 
 room, whilst every other person was 
 well accommodated according to his 
 respective station, and the carriages and 
 all the horses taken exact care of. 
 This being done, Ghino went to the 
 Abbot, and said, ■ My Lord, Ghino, 
 whose guest you are, requests the favor 
 x»f you to let him know whither you 
 are going, and upon what account ? ' 
 The Abbot was wise enough to lay all 
 his haughtiness aside for the present, 
 and satisfied him with regard to both. 
 Ghino went away at hearing this, and, 
 resolving to cure him without a bath, 
 he ordered a great fire to be kept con- 
 stantly in his room, coming to him 
 no more till next morning, when he 
 brought him two slices of toasted bread, 
 in a fine napkin, and a large glass of his 
 own rich white wine, saying to him, 
 1 My Lord, when Ghino was young, 
 he studied physic, and he declares that 
 the very best medicine for a pain in 
 the stomach is what he has now pro- 
 vided for you, of which these things are 
 to be the beginning. Then take them, 
 and have a good heart.' The Abbot, 
 whose hunger was much greater than 
 was his will to joke, ate the bread, 
 though with a great deal of indigna- 
 tion, and drank the glass of wine; after 
 which he began to talk a little arro- 
 gantly, asking many questions, and 
 
 demanding more particularly to see 
 this Ghino. But Ghino passed over 
 part of what he said as vain, and the 
 rest he answered very courteously, de- 
 claring that Ghino meant to make him 
 a visit very soon, and then left him. 
 He saw him no more till next morn- 
 ing, when he brought him as much 
 bread and wine as before, and in the 
 same manner. And thus he continued 
 during many days, till he found the Ab- 
 bot had eaten some dried beans, which 
 he had left purposely in the chamber, 
 when he inquired of him, as from 
 Ghino, how he found his stomach ? 
 The Abbot replied, ' I should be well 
 enough were I out of this man's clutches. 
 There is nothing I want now so much 
 as to eat, for his medicines have had 
 such an effect upon me, that I am fit 
 to die with hunger." Ghino, then, 
 having furnished a room with the Ab- 
 bot's own goods, and provided an ele- 
 gant entertainment, to which many 
 people of the town were invited, as 
 well as the Abbot's own domestics, 
 went the next morning to him, and 
 said, 'My Lord, now you find yourself 
 recovered, it is time for you to quit 
 this infirmary.' So he took him by 
 the hand, and led him into the cham- 
 ber, leaving him there with his own 
 people ; and as he went out to give 
 orders about the feast, the Abbot was 
 giving an account how he had led his 
 life in that place, whilst they declared 
 that they had been used by Ghino with 
 all possible respect. When the time 
 came, they sat down and were nobly 
 entertained, but still without Ghino's 
 
Purgatorio ri. 
 
 243 
 
 making himself known. But after the 
 Abbot had continued some days in that 
 manner, Ghino had all the goods and 
 furniture brought into a large room, 
 and the horses were likewise led into 
 the court-yard which was under it, 
 when he inquired how his Lordship 
 now found himself, or whether he was 
 yet able to ride. The Abbot made an- 
 swer that he was strong enough, and 
 his stomach perfectly well, and that he 
 only wanted to quit this man. Ghino 
 then brought him into the room where 
 all his goods were, showing him also 
 to the window, that he might take a 
 view of his horses, when he said, ' My 
 Lord, you must understand it was no 
 evil disposition, but his being driven 
 a poor exile from his own house, and 
 persecuted with many enemies, that 
 forced Ghino di Tacco, whom I am, 
 to be a robber upon the highways, and 
 an enemy to the court of Rome. You 
 seem, however, to be a person of 
 honor ; as, therefore, I have cured you 
 of your pain in your stomach, I do not 
 mean to treat you as I would do an- 
 other person that should fall into my 
 hands, that is, to take what I please, 
 but I would have you consider my ne- 
 cessity, and then give me what you 
 will yourself. Here is all that belongs 
 to you ; the horses you may see out 
 of the window: take either part or the 
 whole, just as you are disposed, and go 
 or stay, as is most agreeable to you." 
 The Abbot was surprised to hear a 
 highwayman talk in so courteous a 
 manner, which did not a little please 
 him; so, turning all his former passion 
 
 and resentment into kindness and good- 
 will, he ran with a heart full of friend- 
 ship to embrace him : * I protest sol- 
 emnly, that to procure the friendship 
 of such an one as I take you to be, I 
 would undergo more than what you 
 have already made me suffer. Cursed 
 be that evil fortune which has thrown 
 you into this way of life!" So, taking 
 only a few of his most necessary things, 
 and also of his horses, and leaving all 
 the rest, he came back to Rome. The 
 Pope had heard of the Abbot's being a 
 prisoner, and though he was much 
 concerned at it, yet, upon seeing him, 
 he inquired what benefit he had re- 
 ceived from the baths ? The Abbot 
 replied, with a smile, ' Holy Father, 
 I found a physician much nearer, who 
 has cured me excellently well ' ; and 
 he told him the manner of it, which 
 made the Pope laugh heartily, when, 
 going on with his story, and moved 
 with a truly generous spirit, he requested 
 of his Holiness one favor. The Pope, 
 imagining he would ask something else, 
 freely consented to grant it. Then 
 said the Abbot, ' Holy Father, what 
 I mean to require is, that you would 
 bestow a free pardon on Ghino di 
 Tacco, my doctor, because, of all peo- 
 ple of worth that I ever met with, he 
 certainly is most to be esteemed, and 
 the damage he does is more the fault 
 of fortune than himself. Change but 
 his condition, and give him something 
 to live upon, according to his rank and 
 station, and I dare say you will have 
 the same opinion of him that 2 have.' 
 The Pope, being of a noble spirit, and 
 
244 
 
 Notes 
 
 a great encourager of merit, promised 
 to do so, if he was such a person as he 
 reported, and, in the mean time, gave 
 letters of safe-conduct for his coming 
 thither. Upon that assurance, Ghino 
 came to court, when the Pope was 
 soon convinced of his worth, and rec- 
 onciled to him, giving him the priory 
 of an hospital, and creating him a 
 knight. And there he continued as 
 a friend and loyal servant to the Holy 
 Church, and to the Abbot of Cligni, 
 as long as he lived." 
 
 15. Cione de' Tarlati of Pietramala, 
 who, according to the Ottimo, after the 
 fight at Bibbiena, being pursued by the 
 enemy, endeavored to ford the Arno, 
 and was drowned. Others interpret 
 the line differently, making him the 
 pursuing party. But as he was an 
 Aretine, and the Aretines were routed 
 in this battle, the other rendering is 
 doubtless the true one. 
 
 17. Federigo Novello, son of Ser 
 Guido Novello of Casentino, slain by 
 one of the Bostoli. " A good youth," 
 says Benvenuto, " and therefore Dante 
 makes mention of him." 
 
 The Pisan who gave occasion to 
 Marzucco to show his fortitude was 
 Marzucco's own son, Farinata degli 
 Scoringiani. He was slain by Beccio 
 da Caproni, or, as Benvenuto asserts, 
 declaring that Boccaccio told him so, 
 by Count Ugolino. His father, Mar- 
 zucco, who had become a Franciscan 
 friar, showed no resentment at the 
 murder, but went with the other friars 
 to his son's funeral, and in humility 
 kissed the hand of the murderer, ex- 
 
 torting from him the exclamation, 
 " Thy patience overcomes my obdu- 
 racy." This was an example of Chris- 
 tian forgiveness which even that vin- 
 dictive age applauded. 
 
 19. Count Orso was a son of Napo- 
 leone d' Acerbaja, and was slain by his 
 brother-in-law (or uncle) Alberto. 
 
 22. Pierre de la Brosse was the sec- 
 retary of Philip le Bel of France, and 
 suffered at his hands a fate similar to 
 that which befell Pier della Vigna at 
 the court of Frederick the Second. 
 See Inf. XIII. Note 58. Being ac- 
 cused by Marie de Brabant, the wife 
 of Philip, of having written love-letters 
 to her, he was condemned to death by 
 the king in 1276. Benvenuto thinks 
 that during his residence in Paris Dante 
 learned the truth of the innocence of 
 Pierre de la Brosse. 
 
 30. In jEneid, VI. : " Cease to hope 
 that the decrees of the gods are to be 
 changed by prayers." 
 
 37. The apex juris, or top of judg- 
 ment ; the supreme decree of God. 
 Measure for Measure, II. 2 : — 
 
 " How would you be, 
 If He who is the top of judgment should 
 But judge you as you are?" 
 
 51. Virgil's Bucolics, Eclogue I.: 
 "And now the high tops of the villages 
 smoke afar, and larger shadows fall 
 from the lofty mountains." 
 
 74. This has generally been sup- 
 posed to be Sordello the Troubadour. 
 But is it he ? Is it Sordello the Trou- 
 badour, or Sordello the Podesta of Ve- 
 rona ? or are they one and the same 
 person ? After much research, it is 
 
Purgatorio vi 
 
 245 
 
 not easy to decide the question, and 
 
 to 
 
 " Single out 
 Sordello, compassed murkily about 
 With ravage of six long sad hundred years." 
 
 Yet as far as it is possible to learn it 
 from various conflicting authorities, 
 " Who will may hear Sordello's story told." 
 Dante, in his treatise De Volgari 
 Eloquio, I. 15, speaks of Sordello of 
 Mantua as " a man so choice in his 
 language, that not only in his poems, 
 but in whatever way he spoke, he 
 abandoned the dialect of his province." 
 But here there is no question of the 
 Provencal in which Sordello the Trou- 
 badour wrote, but only of Italian dia- 
 lects in comparison with the universal 
 and cultivated Italian, which Dante 
 says " belongs to all the Italian cities, 
 and seems to belong exclusively to 
 none." In the same treatise, II. 13, 
 he mentions a certain Gotto of Mantua 
 as the author of many good songs; and 
 this Gotto is supposed to be Sordello, 
 as Sordello was born at Goito in the 
 province of Mantua. But would Dante 
 in the same treatise allude to the same 
 person under different names ? Is not 
 this rather the Sordel de Goi, mentioned 
 by Raynouard, Poesies des Troub,, V. 
 
 ,. 445 ? 
 
 In the old Provencal manuscript 
 
 quoted by Raynouard, Poesies des Troub., 
 
 V. 444, Sordello's biography is thus 
 
 given : — 
 
 " Sordello was a Mantuan of Sirier, 
 
 son of a poor knight, whose name was 
 
 Sir El Cort. And he delighted in 
 
 learning songs and in making them, 
 
 and rivalled the good men of the court 
 as far as possible, and wrote love-songs 
 and satires. And he came to the court 
 of the Count of Saint Boniface, and the 
 Count honored him greatly, and by 
 way of pastime (a forma de solatz) he 
 fell in love with the wife of the Count, 
 and she with him. And it happened 
 that the Count quarrelled with her 
 brothers, and became estranged from 
 her. And her brothers, Sir Icellis and 
 Sir Albrics, persuaded Sir Sordello to 
 run away with her ; and he came to 
 live with them in great content. And 
 afterwards he went into Provence, and 
 received great honor from ail good 
 men, and from the Count and Countess, 
 who gave him a good castle and a 
 gentlewoman for his wife." 
 
 Citing this passage, Millot, Hist. Litt. 
 des Troub., II. 80, goes on to say : — 
 
 " This is all that our manuscripts tell 
 us of Sordello. According to Agnelli 
 and Platina, historians of Mantua, he 
 was of the house of the Visconti of 
 that city ; valiant in deeds of arms, fa- 
 mous in jousts and tournaments, he 
 won the love of Beatrice, daughter of 
 Ezzelin da Romano, Lord of the Marca 
 Trevigiana, and married her ; he gov- 
 erned Mantua as Podesta and Captain- 
 General; and though son-in-law of the 
 tyrant Ezzelin, he always opposed him, 
 being a great lover of justice. 
 
 " We find these facts cited by Cres- 
 cimbeni, who says that Sordello was 
 the lord of Goito ; but as they are not 
 applicable to our poet, we presume 
 they refer to a warrior of the same 
 name, and perhaps of a different family. 
 
246 
 
 Notes 
 
 " Among the pieces of Sordello, 
 thirty-four in number, there are some 
 fifteen songs of gallantry, though Nos- 
 trodamus says that all his pieces turn 
 only upon philosophic subjects." 
 
 Nostrodamus's account, as given by 
 Crescimbeni, Volgar Poesia, II. 105, is 
 as follows : — 
 
 "Sordello was a Mantuan poet, who 
 surpassed in Provencal song Calvo, 
 Folchetto of Marseilles, Lanfranco Ci- 
 cala, Percival Doria, and all the other 
 Genoese and Tuscan poets, who took 
 far greater delight in our Provencal 
 tongue, on account of its sweetness, 
 than in their own maternal language. 
 This poet was very studious, and ex- 
 ceeding eager to know all things, and 
 as much as any one of his nation ex- 
 cellent in learning as well as in under- 
 standing and in prudence. He wrote 
 several beautiful songs, not indeed of 
 love, for not one of that kind is found 
 among his works, but on philosophic 
 subjects. Raymond Belinghieri, the 
 last Count of Provence of that name, in 
 the last days of his life, (the poet being 
 then but fifteen years of age,) on ac- 
 count of the excellence of his poetry 
 and the rare invention shown in his pro- 
 ductions, took him into his service, as 
 Pietro di Castelnuovo, himself a Pro- 
 vencal poet, informs us. He also 
 wrote various satires in the same lan- 
 guage, and among others one in which 
 he reproves all the Christian princes ; 
 and it is composed in the form of a 
 funeral song on the death of Blan- 
 casso." 
 
 In the Hist. Litt. de la France, XIX. 
 
 452, Emeric-David, after discussing the 
 subject at length, says : — 
 
 " Who then is this Sordello, haughty 
 and superb, like a lion in repose, — 
 this Sordello, who, in embracing Vir- 
 gil, gives rise to this sudden explosion 
 of the patriotic sentiments of Dante ? 
 Is it a singer of love and gallantry ? 
 Impossible. This Sordello is the old 
 Podesta of Mantua, as decided a Ghib- 
 elline as Dante himself; and Dante 
 utters before him sentiments which he 
 well knows the zealous Ghibelline will 
 share. And what still more confirms 
 our judgment is, that Sordello embraces 
 the knees of Virgil, exclaiming, ' O 
 glory of the Latians,' &c. In this ad- 
 miration, in this love of the Latin 
 tongue, we still see the Podesta, the 
 writer of Latin ; we do not see the 
 Troubadour." 
 
 Benvenuto calls Sordello a " noble 
 and prudent knight," and " a man of 
 singular virtue in the world, though of 
 impenitent life," and tells a story he 
 has heard of him and Cunizza, but does 
 not vouch for it. " Ezzelino," he says, 
 " had a sister greatly addicted to the 
 pleasures of love, concerning whom 
 much is said in the ninth Canto of Pa- 
 radise She, being enamored of Sor- 
 dello, had cautiously contrived that he 
 should visit her at night by a back door 
 near the kitchen of her palace at Ve- 
 rona. And as there was in the street 
 a dirty slough in which the swine wal- 
 lowed, and puddles of filthy water, so 
 that the place would seem in no way 
 suspicious, he caused himself to be car- 
 ried by her servant to the door where 
 
Purgatorio ri. 
 
 247 
 
 Cunizza stood ready to receive him. 
 Ezzelino having heard of this, one 
 evening, disguised as a servant, car- 
 ried Sordello, and brought him back. 
 Which done, he discovered himself to 
 Sordello., and said, 'Enough; abstain in 
 future from doing so foul a deed in so 
 foul a place.' Sordello, terrified, hum- 
 bly besought pardon; promising never 
 more to return to his sister. But the 
 accursed Cunizza again enticed him in- 
 to his former error. Wherefore, fear- 
 ing Ezzelino, the most formidable man 
 of his time, he left the city. But Ez- 
 zelino, as some say, afterwards had him 
 put to death." 
 
 He says, moreover, that Dante places 
 Sordello alone and separate from the 
 others, like Saladin in Inf. IV. 129, on 
 account of his superiority, or because 
 he wrote a book entitled " The Treasure 
 of Treasures"; and that Sordello was 
 a Mantuan of the village of Go'ito, — 
 "beautiful of person, valiant of spirit, 
 gentle of manner." 
 
 Finally, Quadrio, Storia i 1 ogni Poesia, 
 II. 1 30, easily cuts the knot which no one 
 can untie ; but unfortunately he does not 
 give his authorities. He writes : — 
 
 " Sordello, native of Goito, (Sordel 
 de Goi,) a village in the Mantuan ter- 
 ritory, was born in 1184, and was the 
 son of a poor knight named Elcort." 
 He then repeats the story of Count 
 Saint Boniface, and of Sordello's recep- 
 tion by Count Raymond in Provence, 
 and adds : " Having afterwards returned 
 to Italy, he governed Mantua with the 
 title of Regent and Captain-General ; 
 and was opposed to the tyrant Ezzelino, 
 
 being a great lover of justice, as Agnelli 
 writes. Finally he died, very old and 
 full of honor, about 1280. He wrote 
 not only in Provencal, but also in our 
 own common Italian tongue ; and he 
 was one of those poets who avoided 
 the dialect of his own province, and 
 used the good, choice language, as 
 Dante affirms in his book of Volgar 
 Eloquenza." 
 
 If the reader is not already suf- 
 ficiently 'confused, he can easily be- 
 come so by turning to Tiraboschi, 
 Storia del/a Lett. Ital., IV. 360, where 
 he will find the matter thoroughly dis- 
 cussed, in sixteen solid pages, by the 
 patient librarian of Modena, who final- 
 ly gives up in despair and calls on the 
 Royal Academy for help ; 
 
 " But that were overbold ; — 
 Who would has heard Sordello's story told." 
 
 ■76. Before Dante's time Fra Guit- 
 tone had said, in his famous Letter to 
 the Florentines : " O queen of cities, 
 court of justice, school of wisdom, 
 mirror of life, and mould of manners, 
 whose sons were kings, reigning in 
 every land, or were above all others, 
 who art no longer queen but servant, 
 oppressed and subject to tribute ! no 
 longer court of justice, but cave of rob- 
 bers, and school of all folly and mad- 
 ness, mirror of death and mould of 
 felony, whose great strength is stripped 
 and broken, whose beautiful face is 
 covered with foulness and shame ; 
 whose sons are no longer kings but 
 vile and wretched servants, held, wher- 
 ever they go, in opprobrium and de- 
 rision by others." 
 
248 
 
 Notes 
 
 See also Petrarca, Canzone XVI., 
 Lady Dacre's Tr., beginning : — 
 
 " O my own Italy ! though words are vain 
 The mortal wounds to close, 
 Unnumbered, that thy beauteous bosom stain, 
 Yet may it soothe my pain 
 To sigh for the Tiber's woes, 
 And Arno's wrongs, as on Po's saddened shore 
 Sorrowing I wander and my numbers pour." 
 
 And Filicaja's sonnet : — 
 
 " Italy ! Italy ! thou who 'rt doomed to wear 
 The fatal gift of beauty, and possess 
 The dower funest of infinite wretchedness, 
 Written upon thy forehead by despair ; 
 Ah ! would that thou wert stronger, or less 
 fair, 
 That they might fear thee more, or love 
 
 thee less, 
 Who in the splendor of thy loveliness 
 Seem wasting, yet to mortal combat dare! 
 Then from the Alps I should not see descending 
 Such torrents of armed men, nor Gallic 
 
 horde 
 Drinking the wave of Po, distained with 
 gore, 
 Nor should I see thee girded with a sword 
 Not thine, and with the stranger's arm 
 
 contending, 
 Victor or vanquished, slave forevermore." 
 
 89. Gibbon, Decline and Fall, Ch. 
 XLIV., says : — 
 
 " The vain titles of the victories of 
 Justinian are crumbled into dust ; but 
 the name of the legislator is inscribed 
 on a fair and everlasting monument. 
 Under his reign, and by his care, the 
 civil jurisprudence was digested in the 
 immortal works of the Code, the Pan- 
 dects, and the Institutes ; the public 
 reason of the Romans has been silently 
 or studiously transfused into the do- 
 mestic institutions of Europe, and the 
 laws of Justinian still command the 
 
 respect or obedience of independent 
 nations. Wise or fortunate is the 
 prince who connects his own reputa- 
 tion with the honor and interest of a 
 perpetual order of men." 
 
 92. Luke xii. 17: "Render to Cae- 
 sar the things that are Cassar's, and to 
 God the things that are God's." 
 
 And in the Vision of Piers Plough- 
 man, 563 : — 
 
 " Rcddite Casari, quod God, 
 That Casari bifalleth, 
 Et qua sunt Dei Deo, 
 Or ellis ye don ille." 
 
 97. Albert, son of the Emperor 
 Rudolph, was the second of the house 
 of Hapsburg who bore the title of 
 King of the Romans. He was elected 
 in 1298, but never went to Italy to be 
 crowned. He came to an untimely 
 and violent death, by the hand of his 
 nephew John, in 1308. This is the 
 judgment of Heaven to which Dante 
 alludes. 
 
 His successor was Henry of Luxem- 
 bourg, Dante's "divine and triumphant 
 Henry," who, in 131 1, was crowned 
 at Milan with the Iron Crown of Lom- 
 bardy, il Sacro Chiodo, as it is some- 
 times called, from the plate of iron with 
 which the crown is lined, being, ac- 
 cording to tradition, made from a nail 
 of the Cross. In 13 12, he was again 
 crowned with the Golden Crown at 
 Rome, and died in the following year. 
 " But the end of his career drew on," 
 says Milman, Latin Christ., VI. 520. 
 " He had now advanced, at the head 
 of an army which his enemies dared 
 not meet in the field, towards Siena. 
 
Purgatorio vi. 
 
 249 
 
 He rode still, seemingly in full vigor 
 and activity. But the fatal air of Rome 
 had smitten his strength. A carbuncle 
 had formed under his knee; injudicious 
 remedies inflamed his vitiated blood. 
 He died at Buonconvento, in the midst 
 of his awe-struck army, on the festival 
 of St. Bartholomew. Rumors of foul 
 practice, of course, spread abroad ; a 
 Dominican monk was said to have ad- 
 ministered poison in the Sacrament, 
 which he received with profound de- 
 votion. His body was carried in sad 
 state, and splendidly interred at Pisa. 
 
 " So closed that empire, in which, 
 if the more factious and vulgar Ghibel- 
 lines beheld their restoration to their 
 native city, their triumph, their re- 
 venge, their sole administration of pub- 
 lic affairs, the nobler Ghibellinism of 
 Dante foresaw the establishment of a 
 great universal monarchy necessary to 
 the peace and civilization of mankind. 
 The ideal sovereign of Dante's famous 
 treatise on Monarchy was Henry of 
 Luxembourg. Neither Dante nor his 
 time can be understood but through 
 this treatise. The attempt of the Pope 
 to raise himself to a great pontifical 
 monarchy had manifestly ignomini- 
 ously failed : the Ghibelline is neither 
 amazed nor distressed at this event. 
 It is now the turn of the Imperialist to 
 unfold his noble vision. 'An universal 
 monarchy is absolutely necessary for 
 the welfare of the world '; and this is 
 part of his singular reasoning: 'Peace,' 
 (says the weary exile, the man worn 
 out in cruel strife, the wanderer from 
 city to city, each of those cities more 
 
 VOL. II. 32 
 
 fiercely torn by faction than the last,) 
 ' universal Peace is the first blessing of 
 mankind. The angels sang, not riches 
 or pleasures, but peace on earth: peace 
 the Lord bequeathed to his disciples. 
 For peace One must rule. Mankind is 
 most like God when at unity, for God 
 is One ; therefore under a monarchy. 
 Where there is parity there must be 
 strife ; where strife, judgment ; the 
 judge must be a third party interven- 
 ing with supreme authority.' With- 
 out monarchy can be no justice, nor 
 even liberty; for Dante's monarch is 
 no arbitrary despot, but a constitutional 
 sovereign ; he is the Roman law im- 
 personated in the Emperor; a monarch 
 who should leave all the nations, all 
 the free Italian cities, in possession of 
 their rights and old municipal institu- 
 tions." 
 
 106. The two noble families of Ve- 
 rona, the Montagues and Capulets, 
 whose quarrels have been made familiar 
 to the English-speaking world by Romeo 
 and Juliet : — 
 
 " Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, 
 By thee, old Capulet and Montague, 
 Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets, 
 And made Verona's ancient citizens 
 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 
 To wield old partisans, in hands as old, 
 Cankered with peace, to part your cankered 
 hate." 
 
 107. Families of Orvieto. 
 
 111. Santafiore is in the neighbor- 
 hood of Siena, and much infested with 
 banditti. 
 
 112. The state of Rome in Dante's 
 time is thus described by Mr. Norton, 
 Travel and Study, pp. 246 - 248 : — 
 
250 
 
 Notes 
 
 "On the slope of the Quirinal Hill, 
 in the quiet enclosure of the convent 
 of St. Catharine of Siena, stands a 
 square, brick tower, seven stories high. 
 It is a conspicuous object in any general 
 view of Rome; for there are few other 
 towers so tall, and there is not a single 
 spire or steeple in the city. It is the 
 Torre delle Milizie. It was begun by 
 Pope Gregory the Ninth, and finished 
 near the end of the thirteenth century 
 by his vigorous and warlike successor, 
 Boniface the Eighth. Many such tow- 
 ers were built for the purposes of pri- 
 vate warfare, in those times when the 
 streets of Rome were the fighting- 
 places of its noble families; but this is, 
 perhaps, the only one that now re- 
 mains undiminished in height and un- 
 altered in appearance. It was a new 
 building when Dante visited Rome ; 
 and it is one of the very few edifices 
 that still preserve the aspect they then 
 presented. The older ruins have been 
 greatly changed in appearance, and 
 most of the structures of the Middle 
 Ages have disappeared, in the vicissi- 
 tudes of the last few centuries. The 
 Forum was then filled with a confused 
 mass of ruins and miserable dwellings, 
 with no street running through their in- 
 tricacies. The Capitol was surrounded 
 with uneven battlemented walls, and 
 bore the character and look of an ir- 
 regular citadel. St. Peter's was a low 
 basilica ; the Colosseum had suffered 
 little from the attacks of Popes or 
 princes, neither the Venetian nor the 
 Farnese palace having as yet been built 
 with stones from its walls ; and centu- 
 
 ries were still to pass before Michel 
 Angelo, Bernini, and Borromini were 
 to stamp its present character upon the 
 face of the modern city. The siege 
 and burning of Rome by Robert Guis- 
 card, in 1084, may be taken as the 
 dividing-line between the city of the 
 Emperors and the city of the Popes, 
 between ancient and modern Rome. 
 .... Rome was in a state of too deep 
 depression, its people were too turbu- 
 lent and unsettled, to have either the 
 spirit or the opportunity for great 
 works. There was no established and 
 recognized authority, no regular course 
 of justice. There was not even any 
 strong force, rarely any overwhelming 
 violence, which for a time at least 
 could subdue opposition, and organize 
 a steady, and consequently a beneficent 
 tyranny. The city was continually 
 distracted by petty personal quarrels, 
 and by bitter family feuds. Its obscure 
 annals are full of bloody civil victories 
 and defeats, — victories which brought 
 no gain to those who won them, de- 
 feats which taught no lesson to those 
 who lost them. The breath of liberty 
 never inspired with life the dead clay 
 of Rome ; and though for a time it 
 might seem to kindle some vital heat, 
 the glow soon grew cold, and speedily 
 disappeared. The records of Florence, 
 Siena, Bologna, and Perugia are as full 
 of fighting and bloodshed as those of 
 Rome ; but their fights were not mere 
 brawls, nor were their triumphs always 
 barren. Even the twelfth and thir- 
 teenth centuries, which were like the 
 coming of the spring after a long win- 
 
Purgatorio vi. 
 
 251 
 
 ter, making the earth to blossom, and 
 gladdening the hearts of men, — the 
 centuries which elsewhere in Italy, 
 and over the rest of Europe, gave birth 
 to the noblest mediaeval Art, when 
 every great city was adorning itself 
 with the beautiful works of the new 
 architecture, sculpture, and painting, 
 — even these centuries left scarcely any 
 token of their passage over Rome. 
 The sun, breaking through the clouds 
 that had long hidden it, shone every- 
 where but here. While Florence was 
 building her Cathedral and her Cam- 
 panile, and Orvieto her matchless Duo- 
 mo, — while Pisa was showing her 
 piety and her wealth in her Cathedral, 
 her Camposanto, her Baptistery, and 
 her Tower, — while Siena was begin- 
 ning a church greater and more mag- 
 nificent in design than her shifting for- 
 tune would permit her to complete, — 
 Rome was building neither cathedral 
 nor campanile, but was selling the 
 marbles of her ancient temples and 
 tombs to the builders of other cities, 
 or quarrying them for her own mean 
 uses." 
 
 118. This recalls Pope's Universal 
 Prayer, — 
 
 " Father of all ! in every age, 
 In every clime, adored, 
 By saint, by savage, and by sage, 
 Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! " 
 
 125. Not the great Roman general 
 who took Syracuse, after Archimedes 
 had defended it so long with his en- 
 gines and burning-glasses, but a descend- 
 ant of his, who in the civil wars took 
 part with Pompey and was banished by 
 
 Caesar. Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. IV. 
 257: — 
 
 " And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels, 
 Than Caesar with a senate at his heels." 
 
 127. Of the state of Florence, Na- 
 pier writes, Flor. Hist., I. 122 : — 
 
 " It was not the simple movement 
 of one great body against another ; not 
 the force of a government in opposition 
 to the people ; not the struggle of 
 privilege and democracy, of poverty 
 and riches, or starvation and repletion; 
 but one universal burst of unmitigated 
 anarchy. In the streets, lanes, and 
 squares, in the courts of palaces and 
 humbler dwellings, were heard the 
 clang of arms, the screams of victims, 
 and the gush of blood : the bow of 
 the bridegroom launched its arrows 
 into the very chambers of his young 
 bride's parents and relations, and the 
 bleeding son, the murdered brother, or 
 the dying husband were the evening 
 visitors of Florentine maids and ma- 
 trons, and aged citizens. Every art 
 was practised to seduce and deceive, 
 and none felt secure even of their 
 nearest and dearest relatives. In the 
 morning a son left his paternal roof 
 with undiminished love, and returned 
 at evening a corpse, or the most bitter 
 enemy ! Terror and death were tri- 
 umphant ; there was no relaxation, no 
 peace by day or night : the crash of 
 the stone, the twang of the bow, the 
 whizzing shaft, the jar of the trembling 
 mangonel from tower and turret, were 
 the dismal music of Florence, not only 
 for hours and days, but months and 
 years. Doors, windows, the jutting 
 
252 
 
 Notes 
 
 galleries and roofs, were all defended, 
 and yet all unsafe: no spot was sacred, 
 no tenement secure : in the dead of 
 night, the most secret chambers, the 
 very hangings, even the nuptial bed 
 itself, were often known to conceal an 
 enemy. 
 
 " Florence in those days was studded 
 with lofty towers; most of the noble 
 families possessed one or more, at least 
 two hundred feet in .height, and many 
 of them far above that altitude. These 
 were their pride, their family citadels ; 
 and jealously guarded ; glittering with 
 arms and men, and instruments of war. 
 Every connecting balcony was alive 
 with soldiers ; the battle raged above 
 and below, within and without; stones 
 rained in showers, arrows flew thick 
 and fast on every side ; the seraglj, or 
 barricades, were attacked and defended 
 by chosen bands armed with lances 
 and boar-spears ; foes were in ambush 
 at every corner, watching the bold or 
 heedless enemy ; confusion was every- 
 where triumphant, a demon seemed to 
 possess the community, and the public 
 mind, reeling with hatred, was steady 
 only in the pursuit of blood. Yet so 
 accustomed did they at last become to 
 this fiendish life, that one day they 
 fought, the next caroused together in 
 drunken gambols, foe with foe, boast- 
 ing of their mutual prowess ; nor was 
 it until after nearly five years of re- 
 
 ciprocal destruction, that, from mere 
 lassitude, they finally ceased thus to 
 mangle each other, and, as it were for 
 relaxation, turned their fury on the 
 neighboring states." 
 
 147. Upon this subject Napier, 
 Flor. Hist., II. 626, remarks : — 
 
 " A characteristic, and, if discreetly 
 handled, a wise regulation of the Flor- 
 entines, notwithstanding Dante's sar- 
 casms, was the periodical revision of 
 their statutes and ordinances, a weed- 
 ing out, as it were, of the obsolete and 
 contradictory, and a substitution of 
 those which were better adapted to 
 existing circumstances and the forward 
 movement of man. There are certain 
 fundamental laws necessarily permanent 
 and admitted by all communities, as 
 there are certain moral and theological 
 truths acknowledged by all religions ; 
 but these broad frames or outlines are 
 commonly filled up with a thick net- 
 work of subordinate regulations, that 
 cover them like cobwebs, and often 
 impede the march of improvement. 
 The Florentines were early aware of 
 this, and therefore revised their laws 
 and institutions more or less frequently 
 and sometimes factiously, according to 
 the turbulent or tranquil condition of 
 the times ; but in 1 394, after forty years' 
 omission, an officer was nominated for 
 that purpose, but whether permanently 
 or not is doubtful." 
 
Pttrgatorio vn 
 
 253 
 
 CANTO VII. 
 
 6. See Canto III. Note 7. 
 28. Limbo, Inf. IV. 25, the "fore- 
 most circle that surrounds the abyss." 
 
 "There, in so far as I had power to hear, 
 Were lamentations none, but only sighs, 
 Which tremulous made the everlasting air. 
 And this was caused by sorrow without tor- 
 ment 
 Which the crowds had, that many were 
 
 and great, 
 Of infants and of women and of men." 
 
 34. The three Theological Virtues 
 of Faith, Hope, and Charity. 
 
 36. The four Cardinal Virtues, 
 Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Tem- 
 perance. 
 
 44. John xii. 35: "Then Jesus said 
 unto them, Yet a little while is the 
 light with you. Walk while ye have 
 the light, lest darkness come upon you: 
 for he that walketh in darkness know- 
 eth not whither he goeth." 
 
 70. In the Middle Ages the longing 
 for rest and escape from danger, which 
 found its expression in cloisters, is ex- 
 pressed in poetry by descriptions of 
 flowery, secluded meadows, suggest- 
 ing the classic meadows of asphodel. 
 Dante has given one already in the In- 
 ferno, and gives another here. 
 
 Compare with these the following 
 from The Miracles of Our Lady, by 
 Gonzalo de Berceo, a monk of Cala- 
 horra, who lived in the thirteenth 
 century, and is the oldest of the Cas- 
 tilian poets whose name has come down 
 to us : — 
 
 " I, Gonzalo de Berceo, in the gentle sum- 
 mer-tide, 
 Wending upon a pilgrimage, came to a meadow's 
 
 side ; 
 All green was it and beautiful, with flowers far 
 
 and wide, 
 A pleasant spot, I ween, wherein the traveller 
 
 might abide. 
 Flowers with the sweetest odors filled all the 
 
 sunny air, 
 And not alone refreshed the sense, but stole the 
 
 mind from care ; 
 On every side a fountain gushed, whose waters 
 
 pure and fair 
 Ice-cold beneath the summer sun, but warm in 
 
 winter were. 
 There on the thick and shadowy trees, amid 
 
 the foliage green, 
 Were the fig and the pomegranate, the pear and 
 
 apple seen, 
 And other fruits of various kinds, the tufted 
 
 leaves between 5 
 None were unpleasant to the taste and none 
 
 decayed, I ween. 
 The verdure of the meadow green, the odor 
 
 of the flowers, 
 The grateful shadows of the trees, tempered with 
 
 fragrant showers, 
 Refreshed me in the burning heat of the sultry 
 
 noontide hours ; 
 O, one might live upon the balm and fragrance 
 
 of those bowers. 
 Ne'er had I found on earth a spot that had 
 
 such power to please, 
 Such shadows from the summer sun, such odors 
 
 on the breeze 5 
 I threw my mantle on the ground, that I might 
 
 rest at ease, 
 And stretched upon the greensward lay in the 
 
 shadow of the trees. 
 There, soft reclining in the shade, all cares 
 
 beside me flung, 
 
254 
 
 Notes 
 
 I heard the soft and mellow notes that through 
 
 the woodland rung. 
 Ear never listened to a strain, from instrument 
 
 or tongue, 
 So mellow and harmonious as the songs above 
 
 me sung." 
 
 See also Brunetto Latini, Tesoretto, 
 XIX. ; the Vision of Piers Ploughman; 
 Gower's Confessio Amantis, VIII., &c. 
 
 73. Of this description Ruskin, Mod- 
 ern Painters, III. 228, remarks : — 
 
 " Now, almost in the opening of 
 the Purgatory, as there at the en- 
 trance of the Inferno, we find a com- 
 pany of great ones resting in a grassy 
 place. But the idea of the grass now 
 is very different. The word now used 
 is not 'enamel,' but 'herb,' and in- 
 stead of being merely green, it is 
 covered with flowers of many colors. 
 With the usual mediaeval accuracy, 
 Dante insists on telling us precisely 
 what these colors were, and how bright ; 
 which he does by naming the actual 
 pigments used in illumination, — 'Gold, 
 and fine silver, and cochineal, and 
 white lead, and Indian wood, serene 
 and lucid, and fresh emerald, just bro- 
 ken, would have been excelled, as less 
 is by greater, by the flowers and grass 
 of the place.' It is evident that the 
 ' emerald ' here means the emerald 
 green of the illuminators ; for a fresh 
 emerald is no brighter than one which 
 is not fresh, and Dante was not one to 
 throw away his words thus. Observe, 
 then, we have here the idea of the 
 growth, life, and variegation of the 
 ' green herb,' as opposed to the smalto 
 of the Inferno ; but the colors of the 
 variegation are illustrated and defined 
 
 by the reference to actual pigments ; 
 and, observe, because the other colors 
 are rather bright, the blue ground (In- 
 dian wood, indigo ?) is sober ; lucid, 
 but serene ; and presently two angels 
 enter, who are dressed in the green 
 drapery, but of a paler green than the 
 grass, which Dante marks, by telling 
 us that it was ' the green of leaves just 
 budded.' 
 
 In all this, I wish the reader to ob- 
 serve two things : first, the general 
 carefulness of the poet in defining color, 
 distinguishing it precisely as a painter 
 would (opposed to the Greek careless- 
 ness about it) ; and, secondly, his re- 
 garding the grass for its greenness and 
 variegation, rather than, as a Greek 
 would have done, for its depth and 
 freshness. This greenness or bright- 
 ness, and variegation, are taken up by 
 later and modern poets, as the things 
 intended to be chiefly expressed by 
 the word 'enamelled'; and, gradually, 
 the term is taken to indicate any kind 
 of bright and interchangeable coloring; 
 there being always this much of pro- 
 priety about it, when used of green- 
 sward, that such sward is indeed, like 
 enamel, a coat of bright color on a 
 comparatively dark ground ; and is 
 thus a sort of natural jewelry and 
 painter's work, different from loose 
 and large vegetation. The word is 
 often awkwardly and falsely used, by 
 the later poets, of all kinds of growth 
 and color; as by Milton of the flowers 
 of Paradise showing themselves over 
 its wall ; but it retains, nevertheless, 
 through all its jaded inanity, some half- 
 
Purgatorio vu. 
 
 255 
 
 unconscious vestige of the old sense, 
 even to the present day." 
 
 82. The old church hymn attributed 
 to Arminius or Hermann, Count of 
 Vehringen, in the eleventh century, 
 beginning : — 
 
 " Salve Regina*, mater misericordiae, 
 Vita, dulcedo et spes nostra, salve." 
 
 94. Rudolph of Hapsburg, first Em- 
 peror of the house of Austria, was 
 crowned at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1273. 
 " It is related," says Voltaire, Annales 
 de P Empire, I. 303, " that, as the im- 
 perial sword, which they pretended 
 was that of Charlemagne, could not be 
 found, several lords made this defect in 
 the formalities a pretext for not taking 
 the oath of allegiance. He seized a 
 crucifix ; This is my sceptre, he said, 
 and all paid homage to him. This 
 single act of firmness made him re- 
 spectable, and the rest of his conduct 
 showed him to be worthy of the Em- 
 pire." 
 
 He would not go to Rome to be 
 crowned, and took so little interest in 
 Italian affairs, that Italy became al- 
 most independent of the Empire, which 
 seems greatly to disturb the mind of 
 Dante. He died in 1291. 
 
 100. Ottocar the Second, king of 
 Bohemia, who is said to have refused 
 the imperial crown. He likewise re- 
 fused to pay homage to Rudolph, whom 
 he used to call his maitre d* hotel, de- 
 claring he had paid his wages and owed 
 him nothing. Whereupon Rudolph 
 attacked and subdued him. According 
 to Voltaire, Annales de /'Empire, I. 
 306, " he consented to pay homage to 
 
 the Emperor as his liege-lord, in the 
 island of Kamberg in the middle of the 
 Danube, under a tent whose curtains 
 should be closed to spare him public 
 mortification. Ottocar presented him- 
 self covered with gold and jewels ; 
 Rudolph, by way of superior pomp, 
 received him in his simplest dress; and 
 in the middle of the ceremony the 
 curtains of the tent fell, and revealed to 
 the eyes of the people and of the 
 armies, that lined the Danube, the 
 proud Ottocar on his knees, with his 
 hands clasped in the hands of his con- 
 queror, whom he had often called his 
 maitre d' hotel, and whose Grand -Se- 
 neschal he now became. This story 
 is accredited, and it is of little impor- 
 tance whether it be true or not." 
 
 But the wife was not quiet under this 
 humiliation, and excited him to revolt 
 against Rudolph. He was again over- 
 come, and killed in battle in 1278. 
 
 10 1. This Winceslaus, says the Ot- 
 timo, was " most beautiful among all 
 men ; but was not a man of arms ; 
 he was a meek and humble ecclesiastic, 
 and did not live long." Why Dante 
 accuses him of living in luxury and 
 ease does not appear. 
 
 103. Philip the Third of France, 
 surnamed the Bold (1270- 1285). 
 Having invaded Catalonia, in a war 
 with Peter the Third of Aragon, both 
 by land and sea, he was driven back, 
 and died at Perpignan during the re- 
 treat. 
 
 104. He with the benign aspect, 
 who rests his cheek upon his hand, is 
 Henry of Navarre, surnamed the Fat, 
 
256 
 
 Notes 
 
 and brother of " Good King Thibault," 
 Inf. XXII. 52. An old French chron- 
 icle quoted by Philalethes says, that, 
 "though it is a general opinion that fat 
 men are of a gentle and benign nature, 
 nevertheless this one was very harsh." 
 109. Philip the Fourth of France, 
 surnamed the Fair, son of Philip the 
 Third, and son-in-law of Henry of 
 Navarre (1285- 1314). 
 
 112. Peter the Third of Aragon 
 (1276- 1285), the enemy of Charles 
 of Anjou and competitor with him for 
 the kingdom of Sicily. He is counted 
 among the Troubadours, and when 
 Philip the Bold invaded his kingdom, 
 Peter launched a song against him, 
 complaining that the " flower-de-luce 
 kept him sorrowing in his house," and 
 calling on the Gascons for aid. 
 
 113. Charles of Anjou, king of Si- 
 cily and Naples (1265). Villani, VII. 
 I, thus describes him : " This Charles 
 was wise and prudent, and valiant in 
 arms, and rough, and much feared and 
 redoubted by all the kings of the world; 
 magnanimous and of a high spirit ; 
 steadfast in carrying on every great 
 enterprise, firm in every adversity, and 
 true to every promise, speaking little 
 and doing much. He laughed but 
 little ; was chaste as a monk, catholic, 
 harsh in judgment, and of a fierce coun- 
 tenance ; large and muscular in person, 
 with an olive complexion and a large 
 nose, and looked the king more than 
 any other lord. He sat up late at night, 
 and slept little, and was in the habit 
 of saying that a great deal of time was 
 lost in sleeping. He was generous to 
 
 his knights, but eager to acquire land, 
 lordship, and money wherever he could, 
 to furnish means for his enterprises and 
 wars. In courtiers, minstrels, and play- 
 ers he never took delight." 
 
 Yet this is the monarch whose tyr- 
 anny in Sicily brought about the 
 bloody revenge of the Sicilian Vespers; 
 which in turn so roused the wrath of 
 Charles, that he swore that, " if he 
 could live a thousand years, he would 
 go on razing the cities, burning the 
 lands, torturing the rebellious slaves. 
 He would leave Sicily a blasted, bar- 
 ren, uninhabited rock, as a warning to 
 the present age, an example to the 
 future." 
 
 116. Philip the Third of Aragon 
 left four sons, Alfonso, James, Freder- 
 ick, and Peter. Whether the strip- 
 ling here spoken of is Alonzo or Peter 
 does not appear. 
 
 121. Chaucer, Wif of Bathes Tale : — 
 
 u Wei can the wise poet of Florence, 
 That highte Dant, speken of this sentence : 
 Lo, in swiche maner rime is Dantes tale. 
 
 Fpl selde up riseth by his branches smale 
 Prowesse of man, for God of his goodnesse 
 Wol that we claime of him our gentillesse : 
 For of our elders may we nothing claime 
 But temporel thing, that man may hurt and 
 maime." 
 
 124. It must be remembered that 
 these two who are singing together 
 in this Valley of Princes were deadly 
 foes on earth ; and one had challenged 
 the other to determine their quarrel by 
 single combat. 
 
 " The wager of battle between the 
 kings," says Milman, Latin Christianity, 
 
Purgatorio vu. 
 
 257 
 
 VI. 1 68, "which maintained its solemn 
 dignity up almost to the appointed 
 time, ended in a pitiful comedy, in 
 which Charles of Anjou had the ig- 
 nominy of practising base and disloyal 
 designs against his adversary ; Peter, 
 that of eluding the contest by craft, 
 justifiable only as his mistrust of his 
 adversary was well or ill grounded, 
 but much too cunning for a frank and 
 generous knight. He had embarked 
 with his knights for the South of 
 France ; he was cast back by tempests 
 on the shores of Spain. He set off 
 with some of his armed companions, 
 crossed the Pyrenees undiscovered, ap- 
 peared before the gates of Bordeaux, 
 and summoned the English Seneschal. 
 To him he proclaimed himself to be 
 the king of Aragon, demanded to see 
 the lists, rode down them in slow 
 state, obtained an attestation that he 
 had made his appearance within the 
 covenanted time, and affixed his solemn 
 protest against the palpable premedi- 
 tated treachery of his rival, which made 
 it unsafe for him to remain longer at 
 Bordeaux. Charles, on his part, was 
 furious that Peter had thus broken 
 through the spider's web of his policy. 
 He was in Bordeaux when Peter ap- 
 peared under the walls, and had chal- 
 lenged him in vain. Charles presented 
 himself in full armor on the appointed 
 day, summoned Peter to appear, pro- 
 claimed him a recreant and a dastardly 
 craven, unworthy of the name of 
 knight." 
 
 Charles of Anjou, Peter the Third 
 of Aragon, and Philip the Third of 
 
 vol. ii. 33 
 
 France, all died in the same year, 
 1285. 
 
 126. These kingdoms being badly 
 governed by his son and succes- 
 sor, Charles the Second, called the 
 Lame. 
 
 128. Daughters of Raymond Beren- 
 ger the Fitth, Count of Provence ; the 
 first married to St. Louis of France, 
 and the second to his brother, Charles 
 of Anjou. 
 
 129. Constance, daughter of Man- 
 fredi of Apulia, and wife of Peter the 
 Third of Aragon. 
 
 131. Henry the Third (1216-1272), 
 of whom Hume says : " This prince 
 was noted for his piety and devotion, 
 and his regular attendance on public 
 worship ; and a saying of his on that 
 head is much celebrated by ancient 
 writers. He was engaged in a dispute 
 with Louis the Ninth of France, con- 
 cerning the preference between ser- 
 mons and masses ; he maintained the 
 superiority of the latter, and affirmed 
 that he would rather have one hour's 
 conversation with a friend, than hear 
 twenty of the most elaborate discourses 
 pronounced in his praise." 
 
 Dickens, Child's History of England, 
 Ch. XV., says of him : " He was as 
 much of a king in death as he had ever 
 been in life. He was the mere pale 
 shadow of a king at all times." 
 
 His " better issue " was Edward the 
 First, called, on account of his amend- 
 ment and establishment of the laws, 
 the English Justinian, and less respect- 
 fully Longshanks, on account of the 
 length of his legs. •« His legs had 
 
258 
 
 Notes 
 
 need to be strong," says the authority 
 just quoted, " however long, and this 
 they were ; for they had to support 
 him through many difficulties on the 
 fiery sands of Syria, where his small 
 force of soldiers fainted, died, deserted, 
 and seemed to melt away. But his 
 prowess made light of it, and he said, 
 'I will go on, if I go on with no other 
 follower than my groom.' " 
 
 134. The Marquis of Monferrato, 
 a Ghibelline, was taken prisoner by 
 the people of Alessandria in Piedmont, 
 in 1 290, and, being shut up in a wooden 
 cage, was exhibited to the public like 
 a wild beast. This he endured for 
 eighteen months, till death released 
 him. A bloody war was the conse- 
 
 quence between Alessandria and the 
 Marquis's provinces of Monferrato and 
 Canavese. 
 
 135. The city of Alessandria is in 
 Piedmont, between the Tanaro and the 
 Bormida, and not far from their junc- 
 tion. It was built by the Lombard 
 League, to protect the country against 
 the Emperor Frederick, and named in 
 honor of Pope Alexander the Third, a 
 protector of the Guelphs. It is said 
 to have been built in a single year, and 
 was called in derision, by the Ghibel- 
 lines, Allessandria della Paglia (of the 
 Straw) ; either from the straw used in 
 the bricks, or more probably from the 
 supposed insecurity of a city built in 
 so short a space of time. 
 
 CANTO VIII, 
 
 1. Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica, 
 
 III. 302 : — 
 
 " It was the hour when every traveller 
 And every watchman at the gate of towns 
 Begins to long for sleep, and drowsiness 
 Is falling even on the mother's eyes 
 Whose child is dead." 
 
 Also Byron, Bon Juan, III. 108 : — 
 " Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts 
 the heart 
 Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 
 When they from their sweet friends are torn 
 apart ; 
 Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, 
 As the far bell of vesper makes him start, 
 Seeming to weep the dying day's decay. 
 Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ? 
 Ah ! surely nothing dies but something 
 mourns ! "* 
 
 4. The word " pilgrim " is here 
 used by Dante in a general sense, 
 meaning any traveller. 
 
 6. Gray, Elegy : — 
 
 " The curfew tolls the knell of parting day." 
 
 13. An evening hymn of the Church, 
 sung at Complines, or the latest ser- 
 vice of the day : — 
 
 " Te lucis ante terminum, 
 Rerum creator, poscimus 
 Ut pro tua dementia 
 Sis presul ad custodiam. 
 
 " Procul recedant somnia 
 Et noxium phantasmata, 
 Hostemque nostrum comprime, 
 Ne polluantur corpora. 
 
Purgatorio mi. 
 
 259 
 
 " Presta, Pater piissime, 
 Patrique compar Unice, 
 Cum Spiritu Paraclito 
 Regnans per omne saeculum." 
 
 This hymn would seem to have no 
 great applicability to disembodied spir- 
 its ; and perhaps may have the same 
 reference as the last petition in the 
 Lord's Prayer, Canto XI. 19 : — 
 
 " Our virtue, which is easily o'ercome, 
 
 Put not to proof with the old Adversary, 
 But thou from him who spurs it so, deliver. 
 This last petition verily, dear Lord, 
 
 Not for ourselves is made, who need it not, 
 But for their sake who have remained be- 
 hind us." 
 
 Dante seems to think his meaning 
 very easy to penetrate. The commen- 
 tators have found it uncommonly diffi- 
 cult. 
 
 26. Genesis iii. 24: "And he placed 
 at the east of the garden of Eden 
 cherubims, and a flaming sword which 
 turned every way, to keep the way of 
 the tree of life." 
 
 27. Justice tempered with mercy, 
 say the commentators. 
 
 28. Green, the color of hope, which 
 is the distinguishing virtue of Purgatory. 
 On the symbolism of colors, Mrs. Jame- 
 son, Sacred and Legendary Art, Introd., 
 says : — 
 
 " In very early Art we find colors 
 used in a symbolical or mystic sense, 
 and, until the ancient principles and 
 traditions were wholly worn out of 
 memory or set aside by the later paint- 
 ers, certain colors were appropriated 
 to certain subjects and personages, and 
 could not arbitrarily be applied or mis- 
 
 applied. In the old specimens of 
 stained glass we find these significations 
 scrupulously attended to. Thus : — 
 
 " White, represented by the dia- 
 mond or silver, was the emblem of light, 
 religious purity, innocence, virginity, 
 faith, joy, and life. Our Saviour wears 
 white after his resurrection. In the 
 judge it indicated integrity ; in the 
 rich man, humility ; in the woman, 
 chastity. It was the color consecrated 
 to the Virgin, who, however, never 
 wears white except in pictures of the 
 Assumption. 
 
 " Red, the ruby, signified fire, divine 
 love, the Holy Spirit, heat, or the 
 creative power, and royalty. White 
 and red roses expressed love and inno- 
 cence, or love and wisdom, as in the 
 garland with which the angel crowns 
 St. Cecilia. In a bad sense, red signi- 
 fied blood, war, hatred, and punish- 
 ment. Red and black combined were 
 the colors of purgatory and the Devil. 
 
 " Blue, or the sapphire, expressed 
 heaven, the firmament, truth, con- 
 stancy, fidelity. Christ and the Virgin 
 wear the red tunic and the blue mantle, 
 as signifying heavenly love and heavenly 
 truth.* The same colors were given 
 to St. John the Evangelist, with this 
 difference, — that he wore the blue 
 tunic and the red mantle ; in later pic- 
 tures the colors are sometimes red and 
 green. 
 
 " Yellow, or gold, was the symbol 
 of the sun ; of the goodness of God ; 
 
 * In the Spanish schools the color of our 
 Saviour's mantle is generally a deep rich violet. 
 
260 
 
 Notes 
 
 initiation, or marriage ; faith, or fruit- 
 fulness. St. Joseph, the husband of the 
 Virgin, wears yellow. In pictures of 
 the Apostles, St. Peter wears a yellow 
 mantle over a blue tunic. In a bad 
 sense, yellow signifies inconstancy, 
 jealousy, deceit ; in this sense it is 
 given to the traitor Judas, who is gen- 
 erally habited in dirty yellow. 
 
 " Green, the emerald, is the color 
 of spring ; of hope, particularly hope 
 in immortality ; and of victory, as the 
 color of the palm and the laurel. 
 
 " Violet, the amethyst, signified love 
 and truth ; or, passion and suffering. 
 Hence it is the color often worn by 
 the martyrs. In some instances our 
 Saviour, after his resurrection, is habited 
 in a violet, instead of a blue mantle. 
 The Virgin also wears violet after the 
 crucifixion. Mary Magdalene, who 
 as patron saint wears the red robe, as 
 penitent wears violet and blue, the 
 colors of sorrow and of constancy. In 
 the devotional representation of her by 
 Timoteo della Vite, she wears red and 
 green, the colors of love and hope. 
 
 " Gray, the color of ashes, signified 
 mourning, humility, and innocence ac- 
 cused ; hence adopted as the dress of 
 the Franciscans (the Gray Friars) ; but 
 it has since been changed for a dark 
 rusty brown. 
 
 ■" Black expressed the earth, dark- 
 ness, mourning, wickedness, negation, 
 death ; and was appropriate to the 
 Prince of Darkness. In some old il- 
 luminated MSS., Jesus, in the Tempta- 
 tion, wears a black robe. White and 
 black together signified purity of life, 
 
 and mourning or humiliation ; hence 
 adopted by the Dominicans and the 
 Carmelites." 
 
 50. It was not so dark that on a 
 near approach he could not distinguish 
 objects indistinctly visible at a greater 
 distance. 
 
 53. Nino de' Visconti of Pisa, 
 nephew of Count Ugolino, and Judge 
 of Gallura in Sardinia. Dante had 
 known him at the siege of Caprona, in 
 1290, where he saw the frightened 
 garrison march out under safeguard. 
 Inf. XXI. 95. It was this "gentle 
 Judge," who hanged Friar Gomita for 
 peculation. Inf. XXII. 82. 
 
 71. His daughter, still young and 
 innocent. 
 
 75. His widow married Galeazzo 
 de' Visconti of Milan, "and much dis- 
 comfort did this woman suffer with her 
 husband," says the Ottimo, " so that 
 many a time she wished herself a 
 widow." 
 
 79. Hamlet, IV. 5 : — 
 
 " His obscure funeral, 
 No trophy, sword, or hatchment o'er his grave." 
 
 80. The Visconti of Milan had for 
 their coat of arms a viper ; and being 
 on the banner, it led the Milanese to 
 battle. 
 
 81. The arms of Gallura. "Ac- 
 cording to Fara, a writer of the six- 
 teenth century," says Valery, Voyage 
 en Corse et en Sardaigne, II. 37,. " the 
 elegant but somewhat chimerical his- 
 torian of Sardinia, Gallura is a Gallic 
 colony ; its arms are a cock ; and one 
 might find some analogy between the 
 natural vivacity of its inhabitants and 
 
Purgatorio viu. 
 
 261 
 
 that of the French." Nino thinks it 
 would look better on a tombstone than 
 a viper. 
 
 89. These three stars are the Alpha 
 of Euridanus, of the Ship, and of the 
 Golden Fish ; allegorically, if any al- 
 legory be wanted, the three Theologi- 
 cal Virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity. 
 The four morning stars, the Cardinal 
 Virtues of active life, are already set; 
 these announce the evening and the life 
 contemplative. 
 
 100. Compare this with Milton's 
 description of the serpent, Parad. Lost, 
 IX. 434, 496 : — 
 
 " Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed 
 Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm ; 
 Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, 
 Among thick-woven arborets, and flowers 
 Imbordered on each bank. 
 
 Not with indented wave, 
 Prone on the ground, as since ; but on his 
 
 rear, 
 Circular base of rising folds, that towered 
 Fold above fold, a surging maze ! his head 
 Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes ; 
 With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect 
 Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass 
 Floated redundant : pleasing was his shape 
 And lovely ; never since of serpent-kind 
 Lovelier, not those that in Illyria changed 
 Hermione and Cadmus, or the god 
 In Epidaurus ; nor to which transformed 
 Ammonian Jove or Capitoline was seen, — 
 He with Olympias, this with her who bore 
 Scipio, the height of Rome. With tract 
 
 oblique 
 At first, as one who sought access, but 
 
 feared 
 To interrupt, sidelong he works his way. 
 As when a ship, by skilful steersman wrought 
 Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the 
 
 wind 
 
 Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail; 
 So varied he, and of his tortuous train 
 Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve. 
 
 Oft he bowed 
 
 His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, 
 Fawning; and licked the ground whereon she 
 trod." 
 
 114. In the original al sommo smalto, 
 to the highest enamel; referring either 
 to the Terrestrial Paradise, enamelled 
 with flowers, or to the highest heaven 
 enamelled with stars. The azure-stone, 
 pierre d'azur, or lapis lazuli, is perhaps 
 a fair equivalent for the smalto, particu- 
 larly if the reference be to the sky. 
 
 1 16. The valley in Lunigiana, through 
 which runs the Magra, dividing the 
 Genoese and Tuscan territories. Par. 
 IX. 89: — 
 
 " The Magra, that with journey short 
 Doth from the Tuscan part the Genoese." 
 
 1 18. Currado or Conrad Malaspina, 
 father of Marcello Malaspina, who six 
 years later sheltered Dante in his exile, 
 as foreshadowed in line 136. It was 
 from the convent of the Corvo, over- 
 looking the Gulf of Spezia, in Lunigi- 
 ana, that Frate Ilario wrote the letter 
 describing Dante's appearance in the 
 cloister. See Illustrations at the end 
 of Vol. I. 
 
 131. Pope Boniface the Eighth. 
 
 134. Before the sun shall be seven 
 times in Aries, or before seven years 
 are passed. 
 
 137. Ecclesiastes, xii. 1 1 : " The words 
 of the wise are as goads, and as nails 
 fastened by the masters of assemblies." 
 
 139. With this canto ends the first 
 day in Purgatory, as indicated by the 
 description of evening at the beginning, 
 
262 
 
 Notes 
 
 and the rising of the stars in line 89. the reader will not fail to notice, by 
 With it closes also the first subdivision the elaborate introduction of the next 
 of this part of the poem, indicated, as canto. 
 
 CANTO IX. 
 
 1. "Dante begins this canto," says 
 Benvenuto da Imola, " by saying a 
 thing that was never said or imagined 
 by any other poet, which is, that the 
 aurora of the moon is the concubine 
 of Tithonus. Some maintain that he 
 means the aurora of the sun ; but this 
 cannot be, if we closely examine the 
 text." This point is elaborately dis- 
 cussed by the commentators. I agree 
 with those who interpret the passage 
 as referring to a lunar aurora. It is 
 still evening; and the hour is indicated 
 a few lines lower down. 
 
 To Tithonus was given the gift of 
 immortality, but not of perpetual youth. 
 As Tennyson makes him say : — 
 
 " The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, 
 The vapors weep their burthen to the ground, 
 Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, 
 And after many a summer dies the swan. 
 Me only cruel immortality 
 Consumes : I wither slowly in thine arms, 
 Here at the quiet limit of the world, 
 A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream 
 The ever silent spaces of the East, 
 Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn." 
 
 2. Don Quixote, I. 2 : " Scarcely 
 had ruddy Phcebus spread the golden 
 tresses of his beauteous hair over the 
 face of the wide and spacious earth, 
 and scarcely had the painted little birds, 
 with the sweet and mellifluous harmony 
 
 of their serrated tongues, saluted the 
 approach of rosy Aurora, when, quirting 
 the soft couch of her jealous husband, 
 she disclosed herself to mortals through 
 the gates and balconies of the Manche- 
 gan horizon." 
 
 5. As the sun was in Aries, and it 
 was now the fourth day after the full 
 moon, the Scorpion would be rising in 
 the dawn which precedes the moon. 
 
 8. This indicates the time to be 
 two hours and a half after sunset, or 
 half past eight o'clock. Two hours 
 of the ascending night are passed, and 
 the third is half over. 
 
 This circumstantial way of measur- 
 ing the flight of time is Homeric. 
 Iliad, X. 250: "Let us be going, then, 
 for the night declines fast, and the 
 morning is near. And the stars have 
 already far advanced, and the greater 
 portion of the night, by two parts, has 
 gone by, but the third portion still re- 
 mains." 
 
 10. Namely, his body. 
 
 12. Virgil, Sordello, Dante, Nino, 
 and Conrad. And here Dante falls 
 upon the grass and sleeps till dawn. 
 There is a long pause of rest and sleep 
 between this line and the next, which 
 makes the whole passage doubly beauti- 
 ful. The narrative recommences like 
 
Purgatorio ix. 
 
 263 
 
 the twitter of early birds just beginning 
 to stir in the woods. 
 
 14. For the tragic story of Tereus, 
 changed to a lapwing, Philomela to a 
 nightingale, and Procne to a swallow, 
 see Ovid, Metamorpb., VI. : — 
 
 " Now, with drawn sabre and impetuous speed, 
 In close pursuit he drives Pandion's breed ; 
 Whose nimble feet spring with so swift a 
 
 force 
 Across the fields, they seem to wing their 
 
 course. 
 And now, on real wings themselves they raise, 
 And steer their airy flight by different ways; 
 One to the woodland's shady covert hies, 
 Around the smoky roof the other flies ; 
 Whose feathers yet the marks of murder 
 
 stain, 
 Where stamped upon her breast the crimson 
 
 spots remain. 
 Tereus, through grief and haste to be revenged, 
 Shares the like fate, and to a bird is changed; 
 Fixed on his head the crested plumes appear, 
 Long is his beak, and sharpened like a spear; 
 Thus armed, his looks his inward mind display, 
 And, to a lapwing turned, he fans his way." 
 
 See also Gower, Confes. Amant.,N .: — 
 
 " And of her suster Progne I finde 
 How she was torned out of kinde 
 Into a swalwe swift of wing, 
 Which eke in winter lith swouning 
 There as she may no thing be sene, 
 And whan the world is woxe grene 
 And comen is the somer tide, 
 Then fleeth she forth and ginneth to chide 
 And chitereth out in her langage 
 What falshede is in mariage, 
 And telleth in a maner speche 
 Of Tereus the spouse breche." 
 
 18. Pope, Temple of Fame, 7 : — 
 
 " What time the morn mysterious visions brings, 
 While purer slumbers spread their golden 
 wings." 
 
 22. Mount Ida. 
 
 30. To the region of fire. Brunetto 
 Latini, Tresor, Ch. CXIII., says: "Af- 
 ter the environment of the air is seated 
 the fourth element ; this is an orb of 
 fire, which extends to the moon and 
 surrounds this atmosphere in which we 
 are. And know that above the fire is 
 in the first place the moon, and the 
 other stars, which are all of the nature 
 of fire." 
 
 37. To prevent Achilles from going 
 to the siege of Troy, his mother Thetis 
 took him from Chiron, the Centaur, and 
 concealed him in female attire in the 
 court of Lycomedes, king of Scyros. 
 
 53. As Richter says: "The hour 
 when sleep is nigh unto the soul." 
 
 55. Lucia, the Enlightening Grace 
 of heaven. Inf. II. 97. 
 
 58. Nino and Conrad. 
 
 63. Ovid uses a like expression: — 
 
 "Sleep and the god together went away." 
 
 94. The first stair is Confession ; 
 the second, Contrition ; and the third, 
 Penance. 
 
 97. Purple and black. See Inf. V. 
 Note 89. 
 
 105. The gate of Paradise is thus 
 described by Milton, Farad. Lost, III. 
 501 : — 
 
 " Far distant he descries, 
 Ascending by degrees magnificent 
 Up to the wall of heaven, a structure high ; 
 At top whereof, but far more rich, appeared 
 The work as of a kingly palace gate, 
 With frontispiece of diamond and gold 
 Imbellished ; thick with sparkling orient gems 
 The portal shone, inimitable on earth 
 By model or by shading pencil drawn. 
 The stairs where such as whereon Jacob saw 
 
264 
 
 Notes 
 
 Angels ascending and descending, bands 
 
 Or guardians bright, when he from Esau fled 
 
 To Padan-Aram in the field of Luz, 
 
 Dreaming by night under the open sky, 
 
 And waking cried, ' This is the gate of 
 
 heaven.' 
 Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood 
 There always, but drawn up to heaven some- 
 times 
 Viewless ; and underneath a bright sea flowed 
 Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon 
 Who after came from earth sailing arrived, 
 Wafted by angels ; or flew o'er the lake, 
 Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds." 
 
 112. The Seven Sins, which are 
 punished in the seven circles of Purga- 
 tory ; Pride, Envy, Anger, Sloth, Ava- 
 rice, Gluttony, Lust. 
 
 118. The golden key is the authority 
 of the confessor; the silver, his knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 132. Luke ix. 62: "No man hav- 
 ing put his hand to the plough, and 
 looking back, is fit for the kingdom of 
 God." And xvii. 32 : " Remember 
 Lot's wife." 
 
 Boethius, Cons. Phil., Lib. III. Met. 
 12 : — 
 
 " Heu ! noctis prope terminos 
 Orpheus Eurydicen suam 
 Vidit, perdidit, occidit. 
 Vos haec fabula respicit, 
 Quicumque in superum diem 
 Mentem ducere quaeritis, 
 Nam qui Tartareum in specus 
 Victus lumina flexerit, 
 Quicquid priecipuum trahit, 
 Perdit, dum videt inferos." 
 
 136. Milton, Parad. Lost, II. 879: — 
 
 " On a sudden open fly 
 With impetuous recoil and jarring sound 
 The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 
 Harsh thunder." 
 
 138. When Cassar robbed the Ro- 
 man treasury on the Tarpeian hill, the 
 tribune Metellus strove to defend it ; 
 but Cassar, drawing hi? sword, said to 
 him, " It is easier to do this than to 
 say it." 
 
 Lucan, Pbars., III. : — 
 
 " The tribune with unwilling steps withdrew, 
 While impious hands the rude assault renew : 
 The brazen gates with thundering strokes re- 
 sound, 
 And the Tarpeian mountain rings around. 
 At length the sacred storehouse, open laid, 
 The hoarded wealth of ages past displayed ; 
 There might be seen the sums proud Carthage 
 
 sent, 
 Her long impending ruin to prevent. 
 There heaped the Macedonian treasures shone, 
 What great Flaminius and ./Emilius won 
 From vanquished Philip and his hapless son. 
 There lay, what flying Pyrrhus lost, the gold 
 Scorned by the patriot's honesty of old : 
 Whate'er our parsimonious sires could save, 
 What tributary gifts rich Syria gave ; 
 The hundred Cretan cities' ample spoil ; 
 What Cato gathered from the Cyprian isle. 
 Riches of captive kings by Pompey borne, 
 In happier days, his triumph to adorn, 
 From utmost India and the rising morn; 
 Wealth infinite, in one rapacious day, 
 Became the needy soldiers' lawless prey : 
 And wretched Rome, by robbery laid low, 
 Was poorer than the bankrupt Caesar now." 
 
 140. The hymn of St. Ambrose, 
 universally known in the churches as 
 the Te Deum. 
 
 144. Thomson, Hymn : — 
 
 " In swarming cities vast 
 Assembled men to the deep organ join 
 The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear 
 At solemn pauses through the swelling bass, 
 And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
 In one united ardor rise to heaven." 
 
Purgatorio x. 
 
 265 
 
 CANTO X. 
 
 1. In this canto is described the 
 First Circle of Purgatory, where the sin 
 of Pride is punished. 
 
 14. It being now Easter Monday, 
 and the fourth day after the full moon, 
 the hour here indicated would be four 
 hours after sunrise. And as the sun 
 was more than two hours high when 
 Dante found himself at the gate of 
 Purgatory (Canto IX. 44), he was an 
 hour and a half in this needle's eye. 
 
 30. Which was so steep as to allow 
 of no ascent; dritto di salita being used 
 in the sense of right of way. 
 
 32. Polycletus, the celebrated Gre- 
 cian sculptor, among whose works one, 
 representing the body-guard of the king 
 of Persia, acquired such fame for ex- 
 cellence as to be called " the Rule." 
 
 33. With this description of the 
 sculptures on the wall of Purgatory 
 compare that of the shield which Vul- 
 can made for Achilles, Iliad, XVIII. 
 484, Buckley's Tr. : — 
 
 " On it he wrought the earth, and 
 the heaven, and the sea, the unwearied 
 sun, and the full moon. On it also he 
 represented all the constellations with 
 which the heaven is crowned, the Plei- 
 ades, the Hyades, and the strength of 
 Orion, and the Bear, which they also 
 call by the appellation of the Wain, 
 which there revolves, and watches 
 Orion ; but it alone is free from the 
 baths of the ocean. 
 
 " In it likewise he wrought two fair 
 cities of articulate speaking men. In 
 
 VOL. II. 34 
 
 the one, indeed, there were marriages 
 and feasts ; and they were conducting 
 the brides from their chambers through 
 the city with brilliant torches, and 
 many a bridal song was raised. The 
 youthful dancers were wheeling round, 
 and among them pipes and lyres uttered 
 a sound ; and the women standing, each 
 at her portals, admired. And people 
 were crowded together in an assembly, 
 and there a contest had arisen; for two 
 men contended for the ransom-money 
 of a slain man : the one affirmed that 
 he had paid all, appealing to the peo- 
 ple ; but the other denied, averring 
 that he had received naught : and both 
 wished to find an end of the dispute 
 before a judge. The people were 
 applauding both, supporters of either 
 party, and the heralds were keeping 
 back the people ; but the elders sat 
 upon polished stones, in a sacred circle, 
 and the pleaders held in their hands the 
 staves of the clear-voiced heralds; with 
 these then they arose, and alternately 
 pleaded their cause. Moreover, in 
 the midst lay two talents of gold, to 
 give to him who should best establish 
 his claim among them. But round the 
 other city sat two armies of people glit- 
 tering in arms ; and one of two plans 
 was agreeable to them, either to waste 
 it, or to divide all things into two parts, 
 — the wealth, whatever the pleasant 
 city contained within it. They, how- 
 ever, had not yet complied, but were 
 secretly arming themselves for an am- 
 
266 
 
 Notes 
 
 buscade. Meanwhile, their beloved 
 wives and young children kept watch, 
 standing above, and among them the 
 men whom old age possessed. But 
 they (the younger men) advanced; but 
 Mars was their leader, and Pallas Mi- 
 nerva, both golden, and clad in golden 
 dresses, beautiful and large, along with 
 their armor, radiant all round, and in- 
 deed like gods ; but the people were 
 of humbler size. But when they now 
 had reached a place where it appeared 
 fit to lay an ambuscade, by a river, 
 where there was a watering-place for 
 all sorts of cattle, there then they set- 
 tled, clad in shining steel. There, 
 apart from the people, sat two spies, 
 watching when they might perceive 
 the sheep and crooked-horned oxen. 
 These, however, soon advanced, and 
 two shepherds accompanied them, 
 amusing themselves with their pipes, 
 for they had not yet perceived the 
 stratagem. Then they, discerning 
 them, ran in upon them, and immedi- 
 ately slaughtered on all sides the herds 
 of oxen, and the beautiful flocks of 
 snow-white sheep; and slew the shep- 
 herds besides. But they, when they 
 heard the great tumult among the oxen, 
 previously sitting in front of the as- 
 sembly, mounting their nimble-footed 
 steeds, pursued ; and soon came up 
 with them. Then, having marshalled 
 themselves, they fought a battle on the 
 banks of the river, and wounded one 
 another with their brazen spears. 
 Among them mingled Discord and Tu- 
 mult, and destructive Fate, holding one 
 alive recently wounded, another un- 
 
 wounded, but a third, slain, she drew 
 by the feet through the battle; and had 
 the garment around her shoulders crim- 
 soned with the gore of men. But they 
 turned about, like living mortals, and 
 fought, and drew away the slaughtered 
 bodies of each other. 
 
 " On it he also placed a soft fallow 
 field, rich glebe, wide, thrice-ploughed; 
 and in it many ploughmen drove hither 
 and thither, turning round their teams. 
 But when, returning, they reached the 
 end of the field, then a man, advancing, 
 gave into their hands a cup of very 
 sweet wine ; but they turned them- 
 selves in series, eager to reach the other 
 end of the deep fallow. But it was 
 all black behind, similar to ploughed 
 land, which indeed was a marvel be- 
 yond all others. 
 
 " On it likewise he placed a field 
 of deep corn, where reapers were cut- 
 ting, having sharp sickles in their hands. 
 Some handfuls fell one after the other 
 upon the ground along the furrow, and 
 the binders of sheaves tied others with 
 bands. Three binders followed the 
 reapers, while behind them boys gath- 
 ering the handfuls, and bearing them in 
 their arms, continually supplied them; 
 and among them the master stood by 
 the swath in silence, holding a sceptre, 
 delighted in heart. But apart, beneath 
 an oak, servants were preparing a ban- 
 quet, and, sacrificing a huge ox, they 
 ministered ; while women sprinkled 
 much white barley on the meat, as a 
 supper for the reapers. 
 
 " On it likewise he placed a vine- 
 yard, heavily laden with grapes, beauti- 
 
Pttrgatorio x. 
 
 267 
 
 ful, golden ; but the clusters through- 
 out were black ; and it was supported 
 throughout by silver poles. Round it 
 he drew an azure trench, and about it 
 a hedge of tin; but there was only- 
 one path to it, by which the gatherers 
 went when they collected the vintage. 
 Young virgins and youths, of tender 
 minds, bore the luscious fruit in woven 
 baskets, in the midst of whom a boy 
 played sweetly on a shrill harp ; and 
 with tender voice sang gracefully to 
 the chord ; while they, beating the 
 ground in unison with dancing and 
 shouts, followed, skipping with their 
 feet. 
 
 " In it he also wrought a herd of 
 oxen with horns erect. But the kine 
 were made of gold and of tin, and 
 rushed out with a lowing from the 
 stall to the pasture, beside a murmuring 
 stream, along the breeze-waving reeds. 
 Four golden herdsmen accompanied the 
 oxen, and nine dogs, swift of foot, fol- 
 lowed. But two terrible lions detained 
 the bull, roaring among the foremost 
 oxen, and he was dragged away, loudly 
 bellowing, and the dogs and youths 
 followed for a rescue. They indeed, 
 having torn off the skin of the great 
 ox, lapped up his entrails and black 
 blood; and the shepherds vainly press- 
 ed upon them, urging on their fleet 
 dogs. These however refused to bite 
 the lions, but, standing very near, 
 barked, and shunned them. 
 
 " On it illustrious Vulcan also form- 
 ed a pasture in a beautiful grove full of 
 white sheep, and folds, and covered 
 huts and cottages. 
 
 "Illustrious Vulcan likewise adorned 
 it with a dance, like unto that which, 
 in wide Gnossus, Dasdalus contrived 
 for fair-haired Ariadne. There danced 
 youths and alluring virgins, holding 
 each other's hands at the wrist. These 
 wore fine linen robes, but those were 
 dressed in well-woven tunics, shining 
 as with oil ; these also had beautiful 
 garlands, and those wore golden swords, 
 hanging from silver belts. Sometimes, 
 with skilful feet, they nimbly bounded 
 round ; as when a potter, sitting, shall 
 make trial of a wheel fitted to his 
 hands, whether it will run : and at 
 other times again they ran back to 
 their places through one another. But 
 a great crowd surrounded the pleasing 
 dance, amusing themselves; and among 
 them two tumblers, beginning their 
 songs, spun round through the midst. 
 
 " But in it he also formed the vast 
 strength of the river Oceanus, near the 
 last border of the well-formed shield." 
 
 See also Virgil's description of the 
 Shield of ^Eneas, ^Eneid, VIII., and 
 of the representations on the walls of the 
 Temple of Juno at Carthage, jEneid, I. 
 Also the description of the Temple of 
 Mars, in Statius, Tbebaid,VH., and that 
 of the tomb of the Persian queen in the 
 Alexandras of Philip Gualtier, noticed 
 in Mr. Sumner's article, Atlantic Month- 
 ly, XVI. 7 54. And finally "the noble 
 kerving and the portreitures " of the 
 Temples of Venus, Mars, and Diana, 
 in Chaucer's Knigbtes Tale : — 
 
 "Why shulde I not as wel eke tell you all 
 The portreiture that was upon the wall 
 Within the temple of mighty Mars the Rede ? 
 
268 
 
 Notes 
 
 " First on the wall was peinted a forest, 
 In which ther wonneth neyther man ne best ; 
 With knotty, knarry, barrein trees old, 
 Of stubbes sharpe, and hidous to behold ; 
 In which ther ran a romble and a swough, 
 As though a storme shuld bresten every bough. 
 And, dounward from an hill, under a bent, 
 Ther stood the temple of Mars Armipotent, 
 Wrought all of burned stele; of which th' entree 
 Was longe and streite, and gastly for to see ; 
 And therout came a rage and swiche a vise, 
 That it made all the gates for to rise. 
 The northern light in at the dore shone ; 
 For window, on the wall, ne was ther none, 
 Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne. 
 The dore was all of athamant eterne ; 
 Yclenched, overthwart and endelong, 
 With yren tough. And, for to make it strong, 
 Every piler the temple to sustene 
 Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene. 
 
 " Ther saw I, first, the derke imagining 
 Of felonie, and alle the compassing ; 
 The cruel ire, red as any glede ; 
 The pikepurse ; and eke the pale drede ; 
 The smiler, with the knif under the cloke ; 
 The shepen brenning, with the blake smoke ; 
 The treson of the mordring in the bedde ; 
 The open werre, with woundes all bebledde; 
 Conteke, with blody knif and sharp menace : 
 All full of chirking was that sory place. 
 The sleer of himself, yet, saw I there, 
 His herte-blood hath bathed all his here, 
 The naile ydriven in the shode anyght, 
 The colde deth, with mouth gaping upright." 
 
 40. Luke i. 28 : " And the angel 
 came in unto her and said, Hail, thou 
 that art highly favored, the Lord is 
 with thee." 
 
 44. Luke i. 38 : "And Mary said, 
 Behold the handmaid of the Lord." 
 
 57. 2 Samuel vi. 6, 7: "And when 
 they came to Nachon's threshing-floor, 
 Uzzah put forth his hand to the ark of 
 God, and took hold of it; for the oxen 
 
 shook it. And the anger of the Lord 
 was kindled against Uzzah, and God 
 smote him there for his error ; and 
 there he died by the ark of God." 
 
 65. 2 Samuel vi. 14: "And David 
 danced before the Lord with all his 
 might ; and David was girded with a 
 linen ephod." 
 
 68. 2 Samuel vi. 16 : " And as the 
 ark of the Lord came into the city of 
 David, Michal, Saul's daughter, looked 
 through a window and saw King David 
 leaping and dancing before the Lord ; 
 and she despised him in her heart." 
 
 73. This story of Trajan is told in 
 nearly the same words, though in prose, 
 in the Fiore di Filosofi, a work attributed 
 to Brunetto Latini. See Nannucci, 
 Manuale della Letteratura del Prima 
 Secolo, III. 291. It may be found also 
 in the Legenda Aurea, in the Cento No- 
 velle Antiche, Nov. 67, and in the Life 
 of St. Gregory, by Paulus Diaconus. 
 
 As told by Ser Brunetto the story 
 runs thus : " Trajan was a very just 
 Emperor, and one day, having mounted 
 his horse to go into battle with his 
 cavalry, a woman came and seized him 
 by the foot, and, weeping bitterly, asked 
 him and besought him to do justice 
 upon those who had without cause put 
 to death her son, who was an upright 
 young man. And he answered and 
 said, 'I will give thee satisfaction when 
 I return.' And she said, 'And if thou 
 dost not return ? ' And he answered, 
 ' If I do not return, my successor will 
 give thee satisfaction.' And she said, 
 ' How do I know that ? and suppose 
 he do it, what is it to thee if another 
 
Purgatorio xi. 
 
 269 
 
 do good ? Thou art my debtor, and 
 according to thy deeds shalt thou be 
 judged ; it is a fraud for a man not to 
 pay what he owes ; the justice of an- 
 other will not liberate thee, and it will 
 be well for thy successor if he shall 
 liberate himself.' Moved by these 
 words the Emperor alighted, and did 
 justice, and consoled the widow, and 
 then mounted his horse, and went to 
 battle, and routed his enemies. A long 
 time afterwards St. Gregory, hearing 
 of this justice, saw his statue, and had 
 him disinterred, and found that he was 
 all turned to dust, except his bones and 
 his tongue, which was like that of a 
 living man. And by this St. Gregory 
 knew his justice, for this tongue had 
 always spoken it ; so that then he 
 wept very piteously through compas- 
 sion, praying God that he would take 
 this soul out of Hell, knowing that he 
 had been a Pagan. Then God, because 
 of these prayers, drew that soul from 
 pain, and put it into glory. And there- 
 upon the angel spoke to St. Gregory, 
 and told him never to make such a 
 
 prayer again, and God laid upon him 
 as a penance either to be two days in 
 Purgatory, or to be always ill with 
 fever and side-ache. St. Gregory as 
 the lesser punishment chose the fever 
 and side-ache {male di fanco)." 
 
 75. Gregory's " great victory " was 
 saving the soul of Trajan by prayer. 
 
 124. Jeremy Taylor says : "As the 
 silk-worm eateth itself out of a seed to 
 become a little worm ; and there feed- 
 ing on the leaves of mulberries, it 
 grows till its coat be off, and then 
 works itself into a house of silk ; then, 
 casting its pearly seeds for the young 
 to breed, it leaveth its silk for man, 
 and dieth all white and winged in the 
 shape of a flying creature : so is the 
 progress of souls." 
 
 127. Gower, Confes. Amant., 1. : — 
 
 " The proude vice of veingloire 
 Remembreth nought of purgatoire." 
 
 And Shakespeare, King Henry the 
 Eighth, III. 2 : — 
 
 " I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory." 
 
 CANTO XI. 
 
 3. The angels, the first creation or 
 effects of the divine power. 
 
 6. Wisdom of Solomon, vii. 25: "For 
 she is the breath of the power of God, 
 and a pure influence flowing from the 
 glory of the Almighty." In the Vul- 
 gate : Vapor est enim virtutis Dei. 
 
 45. See Inf. XII. Note 2. 
 
 58. Or Italian. The speaker is 
 Omberto Aldobrandeschi, Count of 
 Santafiore, in the Maremma of Siena. 
 "The Counts of Santafiore were, and 
 are, and almost always will be at war 
 with the Sienese," says the Ottimo. 
 In one of these wars Omberto was 
 slain, at the village of Campagnatico. 
 
270 
 
 Notes 
 
 " The author means," continues the 
 same commentator, " that he who can- 
 not carry his head high should bow it 
 down like a bulrush." 
 
 79. Vasari, Lives of the Painters, 
 Mrs. Foster's Tr., I. 103, says : — 
 
 " At this time there lived in Rome 
 — to omit nothing relative to art that 
 may be worthy of commemoration — 
 a certain Oderigi of Agobbio, an ex- 
 cellent miniature-painter of those times, 
 with whom Giotto lived on terms of 
 close friendship ; and who was there- 
 fore invited by the Pope to illuminate 
 many books for the library of the pal- 
 ace : but these books have in great 
 part perished in the lapse of time. In 
 my book of ancient drawings I have 
 some few remains from the hand of 
 this artist, who was certainly a clever 
 man, although much surpassed by 
 Franco of Bologna, who executed many 
 admirable works in the same manner, 
 for the same Pontiff, (and which were 
 also destined for the library of the 
 palace,) at the same time with those 
 of Oderigi. From the hand of Franco 
 also, I have designs, both in painting 
 and illuminating, which may be seen 
 in my book above cited; among others 
 are an eagle, perfectly well done, and 
 a lion tearing up a tree, which is most 
 beautiful." 
 
 81. The art of illuminating manu- 
 scripts, which was called in Paris allu- 
 minare, was in Italy called miniare. 
 Hence Oderigi is called by Vasari a 
 miniatore, or miniature-painter. 
 
 83. Franco Bolognese was a pupil 
 of Oderigi, who perhaps alludes to this 
 
 fact in claiming a part of the honor 
 paid to the younger artist. 
 
 94. Of Cimabue, Vasari, Lives of 
 the Painters, Mrs. Foster's Tr., I. 35, 
 says : — 
 
 " The overwhelming flood of evils 
 by which unhappy Italy had been sub- 
 merged and devastated had not only 
 destroyed whatever could properly be 
 called buildings, but, a still more de- 
 plorable consequence, had totally ex- 
 terminated the artists themselves, when, 
 by the will of God, in the year 1240, 
 Giovanni Cimabue, of the noble family 
 of that name, was born, in the city of 
 Florence, to give the first light to the 
 art of painting. This youth, as he 
 grew up, being considered by his father 
 and others to give proof of an acute 
 judgment and a clear understanding, 
 was sent to Santa Maria Novella to 
 study letters under a relation, who was 
 then master in grammar to the novices 
 of that convent. But Cimabue, instead 
 of devoting himself to letters, consumed 
 the whole day in drawing men, horses, 
 houses, and other various fancies, on 
 his books and different papers, — an 
 occupation to which he felt himself 
 impelled by nature ; and this natural 
 inclination was favored by fortune, for 
 the governors of the city had invited 
 certain Greek painters to Florence, for 
 the purpose of restoring the art of 
 painting, which had not merely degen- 
 erated, but was altogether lost. These 
 artists, among other works, began to 
 paint the Chapel of the Gondi, situate 
 next the principal chapel, in Santa 
 Maria Novella, the roof and walls of 
 
Purgatorio xi. 
 
 271 
 
 which are now almost entirely destroyed 
 by time, — and Ciambue, often escaping 
 from the school, and having already 
 made a commencement in the art he 
 was so fond of, would stand watching 
 those masters at their work, the day 
 through. Judging from these circum- 
 stances, his father, as well as the artists 
 themselves, concluded him to be well 
 endowed for painting, and thought that 
 much might be hoped from his future 
 efforts, if he were devoted to that art. 
 Giovanni was accordingly, to his no 
 small satisfaction, placed with those 
 masters. From this time he labored 
 incessantly, and was so far aided by his 
 natural powers that he soon greatly 
 surpassed his teachers both in design 
 and coloring. For these masters, car- 
 ing little for the progress of art, had 
 executed their works as we now see 
 them, not in the excellent manner of 
 the ancient Greeks, but in the rude 
 modern style of their own day. Where- 
 fore, though Cimabue imitated his 
 Greek instructors, he very much im- 
 proved the art, relieving it greatly from 
 their uncouth manner, and doing honor 
 to his country by the name he ac- 
 quired, and by the works which he per- 
 formed. Of this we have evidence in 
 Florence from the pictures which he 
 painted there ; as, for example, the 
 front of the altar of Santa Cecilia, and 
 a picture of the Virgin, in Santa Croce, 
 which was, and is still, attached to one 
 of the pilasters on the right of the 
 choir." 
 
 95. Shakespeare, Troil. and Cres., 
 HI- 3 : - 
 
 "The present eye praises the present object : 
 Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, 
 That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 
 Since things in motion sooner catch the eye 
 Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee; 
 And still it might, and yet it may again, 
 If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, 
 And case thy reputation in thy tent." 
 
 Cimabue died in 1300. His epitaph is: 
 " Credidit ut Cimabos picturae castra tenere, 
 Sic tenuit vivens, nunc tenet astra poli." 
 
 Vasari, Lives of the Painters, I. 93 : — 
 " The gratitude which the masters 
 in painting owe to Nature, — who is 
 ever the truest model of him who, 
 possessing the power to select the 
 brightest parts from her best and love- 
 liest features, employs himself un- 
 weariedly in the reproduction of these 
 beauties, — this gratitude, I say, is due, 
 in my judgment, to the Florentine 
 painter Giotto, seeing that he alone, — 
 although born amidst incapable artists, 
 and at a time when all good methods 
 in art had long been entombed beneath 
 the ruins of war, — yet, by the favor 
 of Heaven, he, I say, alone succeeded in 
 resuscitating Art, and restoring her to 
 a path that may be called the true one. 
 And it was in truth a great marvel, that 
 from so rude and inapt an age Giotto 
 should have had strength to elicit so 
 much, that the art of design, of which 
 the men of those days had little, if any 
 knowledge, was by his means effectu- 
 ally recalled into life. The birth of 
 this great man took place in the hamlet 
 of Vespignano, fourteen miles from the 
 city of Florence, in the year 1276. 
 His father's name was Bondone, a sim- 
 ple husbandman, who reared the child, 
 
272 
 
 Notes 
 
 to whom he had given the name of 
 Giotto, with such decency as his con- 
 dition permitted. The boy was early 
 remarked for extreme vivacity in all his 
 childish proceedings, and for extraor- 
 dinary promptitude of intelligence ; so 
 that he became endeared, not only to 
 his father, but to all who knew him 
 in the village and around it. When 
 he was about ten years old, Bondone 
 gave him a few sheep to watch, and 
 with these he wandered about the 
 vicinity, — now here and now there. 
 But, induced by Nature herself to the 
 arts of design, he was perpetually draw- 
 ing on the stones, the earth, or the 
 sand, some natural object that came be- 
 fore him, or some fantasy that presented 
 itself to his thoughts. It chanced one 
 day that the affairs of Cimabue took 
 him from Florence to Vespignano, 
 when he perceived the young Giotto, 
 who, while his sheep fed around him, 
 was occupied in drawing one of them 
 from the life, with a stone slightly 
 pointed, upon a smooth, clean piece of 
 rock, — and that without any teaching 
 whatever but such as Nature herself 
 had imparted. Halting in astonish- 
 ment, Cimabue inquired of the boy if 
 he would accompany him to his home, 
 and the child replied, he would go 
 willingly, if his father were content to 
 permit it. Cimabue therefore request- 
 ing the consent of Bondone, the latter 
 granted it readily, and suffered the artist 
 to conduct his son to Florence, where, 
 in a short time, instructed by Cimabue 
 and aided by Nature, the boy not only 
 equalled his master in his own manner, 
 
 but became so good an imitator of Na- 
 ture that he totally banished the rude 
 Greek manner, restoring art to the 
 better path adhered to in modern times, 
 and introducing the custom of accu- 
 rately drawing living persons from na- 
 ture, which had not been used for more 
 than two hundred years. Or, if some 
 had attempted it, as said above, it was 
 not by any means with the success of 
 Giotto. Among the portraits by this 
 artist, and which still remain, is one of 
 his contemporary and intimate friend, 
 Dante Alighieri, who was no less fa- 
 mous as a poet than Giotto as a painter, 
 and whom Messer Giovanni Boccaccio 
 has lauded so highly in the introduction 
 to his story of Messer Forese da Ra- 
 batta, and of Giotto the painter him- 
 self. This portrait is in the chapel of 
 the palace of the Podesta in Florence ; 
 and in the same chapel are the portraits 
 of Ser Brunetto Latini, master of Dante, 
 and of Messer Corso Donati, an illus- 
 trious citizen of that day." 
 
 Pope Benedict the Ninth, hearing 
 of Giotto's fame, sent one of his cour- 
 tiers to Tuscany, to propose to him 
 certain paintings for the Church of St. 
 Peter. " The messenger," continues 
 Vasari, " when on his way to visit 
 Giotto, and to inquire what other good 
 masters there were in Florence, spoke 
 first with many artists in Siena, — then, 
 having received designs from them, he 
 proceeded to Florence, and repaired 
 one morning to the workshop where 
 Giotto was occupied with his labors. 
 He declared the purpose of the Pope, 
 and the manner in which that Pontiff 
 
Purgatorio xi. 
 
 273 
 
 desired to avail himself of his assist- 
 ance ; and, finally, requested to have 
 a drawing, that he might send it to his 
 Holiness. Giotto, who was very cour- 
 teous, took a sheet of paper and a pen- 
 cil dipped in a red color, then, resting 
 his elbow on his side, to form a sort 
 of compass, with one turn of the hand 
 he drew a circle, so perfect and exact 
 that it was a marvel to behold. This 
 done, he turned smiling to the courtier, 
 saying, ' Here is your drawing.' 'Am 
 I to have nothing more than this ? ' 
 inquired the latter, conceiving himself 
 to be jested with. ' That is enough 
 and to spare,' returned Giotto ; ' send 
 it with the rest, and you will see if it 
 will be recognized.' The messenger, 
 unable to obtain anything more, went 
 away very ill satisfied, and fearing that 
 he had been fooled. Nevertheless, 
 having despatched the other drawings 
 to the Pope, with the names of those 
 who had done them, he sent that of 
 Giotto also, relating the mode in which 
 he had made his circle, without mov- 
 ing his arm and without compasses ; 
 from which the Pope, and such of the 
 courtiers as were well versed in the 
 subject, perceived how far Giotto sur- 
 passed all the other painters of his 
 time. This incident, becoming known, 
 gave rise to the proverb, still used in 
 relation to people of dull wits, — Tu set 
 pit tondo che PO di Giotto ; the signif- 
 icance of which consists in the double 
 meaning of the word ' tondo,' which 
 is used in the Tuscan for slowness of 
 intellect and heaviness of comprehen- 
 sion, as well as for an exact circle. 
 vol. 11. 35 
 
 The proverb has besides an interest 
 from the circumstance which gave it 
 birth 
 
 "It is said that Giotto, when he was 
 still a boy, and studying with Cimabue, 
 once painted a fly on the nose of a 
 figure on which Cimabue himself was 
 employed, and this so naturally, that, 
 when the master returned to continue 
 his work, he believed it to be real, 
 and lifted his hand more than once to 
 drive it away before he should go on 
 with the painting." 
 
 Boccaccio, Decamerone, VI. 5, tells 
 this tale of Giotto : — 
 
 " As it often happens that fortune 
 hides under the meanest trades in life 
 the greatest virtues, which has been 
 proved by Pampinea; so are the great- 
 est geniuses found frequently lodged by 
 Nature in the most deformed and mis- 
 shapen bodies, which was verified in 
 two of our own citizens, as I am now 
 going to relate. For the one, who was 
 called Forese da Rabatta, being a little 
 deformed mortal, with a flat Dutch 
 face, worse than any of the family of 
 the Baronci, yet was he esteemed by 
 most men a repository of the civil law. 
 And the other, whose name was Gi- 
 otto, had such a prodigious fancy, that 
 there was nothing in Nature, the parent 
 of all things, but he could imitate it 
 with his pencil so well, and draw it so 
 like, as to deceive our very senses, im- 
 agining that to be the very thing itself 
 which was only his painting : there- 
 fore, having brought that art again to 
 light, which had lain buried for many 
 ages under the errors of such as aimed 
 
274 
 
 Notes 
 
 more to captivate the eyes of the igno- 
 rant, than to please the understandings 
 of those who were really judges, he 
 may be deservedly called one of the 
 lights and glories of our city, and the 
 rather as being master of his art, not- 
 withstanding his modesty would never 
 suffer himself to be so esteemed ; which 
 honor, though rejected by him, dis- 
 played itself in him with the greater 
 lustre, as it was so eagerly usurped by 
 others less knowing than himself, and 
 by many also who had all their knowl- 
 edge from him. But though his excel- 
 lence in his profession was so wonder- 
 ful, yet as to his person and aspect he 
 had no way the advantage of Signor 
 Forese. To come then to my story. 
 These two worthies had each his coun- 
 try-seat at Mugello, and Forese being 
 gone thither in the vacation time, and 
 riding upon an unsightly steed, chanced 
 to meet there with Giotto, who was 
 no better equipped than himself, when 
 they returned together to Florence. 
 Travelling slowly along, as they were 
 able to go no faster, they were over- 
 taken by a great shower of rain, and 
 forced to take shelter in a poor man's 
 house, who was well known to them 
 both ; and, as there was no appearance 
 of the weather's clearing up, and each 
 being desirous of getting home that 
 night, they borrowed two old, rusty 
 cloaks, and two rusty hats, and they 
 proceeded on their journey. After 
 they had gotten a good part of their 
 way, thoroughly wet, and covered with 
 dirt and mire, which their two shuf- 
 fling steeds had thrown upon them, 
 
 and which by no means improved their 
 looks, it began to clear up at last, and 
 they, who had hitherto said but little 
 to each other, now turned to discourse 
 together ; whilst Forese, riding along 
 and listening to Giotto, who was ex- 
 cellent at telling a story, began at last 
 to view him attentively from head to 
 foot, and, seeing him in that wretched, 
 dirty pickle, without having any regard 
 to himself he fell a laughing, and said, 
 ' Do you suppose, Giotto, if a stranger 
 were to meet with you now, who had 
 never seen you before, that he would 
 imagine you to be the best painter in 
 the world, as you really are ? ' Giotto 
 readily replied, ' Yes, sir, I believe he 
 might think so, if, looking at you at 
 the same time, he would ever conclude 
 that you had learned your A, B, C 
 At this Forese was sensible of his mis- 
 take, finding himself well paid in his 
 own coin." 
 
 Another story of Giotto may be found 
 in Sacchetti, Nov. 75. 
 
 97. Probably Dante's friend, Guido 
 Cavalcanti, Inf. X. Note 63 ; and Gui- 
 do Guinicelli, Purg. XXVI. Note 92, 
 whom he calls 
 
 " The father 
 Of me and of my betters, who had ever 
 Practised the sweet and gracious rhymes of 
 love." 
 
 99. Some commentators suppose that 
 Dante here refers to himself. He more 
 probably is speaking only in general 
 terms, without particular reference to 
 any one. 
 
 103. Ben Jonson, Ode on the Death 
 of Sir H. Morison : — 
 
Purgatorio xi. 
 
 275 
 
 " It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make men better be ; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear ; 
 A lily of a day 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fall and die that night ; 
 It was the plant and flower of light." 
 
 105. The babble of childhood ; 
 pappo for pane, bread, and dindi for da- 
 nari, money. 
 
 Halliwell, Die. of Arcb. and Prov. 
 Words : " Dinders, small coins of the 
 Lower Empire, found at Wroxeter." 
 
 108. The revolution of the fixed 
 stars, according to the Ptolemaic theo- 
 ry, which was also Dante's, was thirty- 
 six thousand years. 
 
 109. "Who goes so slowly," inter- 
 prets the Ottimo. 
 
 1 1 z. At the battle of Monte Aperto. 
 See Inf. X. Note 86. 
 
 118. Henry Vaughan, Saered Po- 
 ems : — 
 
 " O holy hope and high humility, 
 High as the heavens above; 
 These are your walks, and you have showed 
 them me 
 To kindle my cold love ! " 
 
 And Milton, Sams. Agon., 185 : — 
 
 " Apt words have power to swage 
 The tumors of a troubled mind." 
 
 121. A haughty and ambitious no- 
 bleman of Siena, who led the Sienese 
 troops at the battle of Monte Aperto. 
 Afterwards, when the Sienese were 
 routed by the Florentines at the battle 
 of Colle in the Val d' Elsa, (Purg. 
 XIII. Note 1 15,) he was taken prisoner 
 
 " and his head was cut off," says Vil- 
 lani, VII. 31, "and carried through all 
 the camp fixed upon a lance. And 
 well was fulfilled the prophecy and 
 revelation which the Devil had made 
 to him, by means of necromancy, but 
 which he did not understand ; for the 
 Devil, being constrained to tell how he 
 would succeed in that battle, menda- 
 ciously answered, and said : ' Thou 
 shalt go forth and fight, thou shalt con- 
 quer not die in the battle, and thy 
 head shall be the highest in the camp.' 
 And he, believing from these words 
 that he should be victorious, and be- 
 lieving he should be lord over all, did 
 not put a stop after ' not ' [vincerai no, 
 morrai, thou shalt conquer not, thou 
 shalt die). And therefore it is great 
 folly to put faith in the Devil's ad- 
 vice. This Messer Provenzano was a 
 great man in Siena after his victory at 
 Monte Aperto, and led the whole city, 
 and all the Ghibelline party of Tus- 
 cany made him their chief, and he was 
 very presumptuous in his will." 
 
 The humility which saved him was 
 his seating himself at a little table in 
 the public square of Siena, called the 
 Campo, and begging money of all pass- 
 ers to pay the ransom of a friend who 
 had been taken prisoner by Charles of 
 Anjou, as here narrated by Dante. 
 
 138. Spenser, Faery Queene, VI. c. 7, 
 st. 22 : — 
 
 " He, therewith much abashed and affrayd, 
 Began to tremble every limbe and vaine." 
 
 141. A prophecy of Dante's banish- 
 ment and poverty and humiliation. 
 
2?6 
 
 Notes 
 
 CANTO XII 
 
 I. In the first part of this canto the 
 same subject is continued, with exam- 
 ples of pride humbled, sculptured on 
 the pavement, upon which the Proud 
 are doomed to gaze as they go with 
 their heads bent down beneath their 
 heavy burdens, 
 " So that they may behold their evil ways." 
 
 Iliad, XIII. 700 : " And Ajax, the 
 swift son of Oileus, never at all stood 
 apart from the Telamonian Ajax ; but 
 as in a fallow field two dark bullocks, 
 possessed of equal spirit, drag the com- 
 pacted plough, and much sweat breaks 
 out about the roots of their horns, and 
 the well-polished yoke alone divides 
 them, stepping along the furrow, and 
 the plough cuts up the bottom of the 
 soil, so they, joined together, stood 
 very near to each other." 
 
 3. In Italy a pedagogue is not only 
 a teacher, but literally a leader of chil- 
 dren, and goes from house to house 
 collecting his little flock, which he 
 brings home again after school. 
 
 Galatians iii. 24: " The law was our 
 schoolmaster (Paidagogos) to bring us 
 unto Christ." 
 
 17. Tombs under the pavement in the 
 aisles of churches, in contradistinction 
 to those built aloft against the walls. 
 
 25. The reader will not fail to mark 
 the artistic structure of the passage from 
 this to the sixty-third line. First there 
 are four stanzas beginning, " I saw " ; 
 then four beginning, " O "; then four 
 
 beginning, "Displayed"; and then a 
 stanza which resumes and unites them 
 all. 
 
 27. Luke x. 18: "I beheld Satan 
 as lightning fall from heaven." 
 
 Milton, Parad. Lost, I. 44 : — 
 
 " Him the Almighty Power 
 Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, 
 With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
 To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 
 In adamantine chains and penal fire, 
 Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms." 
 
 28. Iliad, I. 403 : " Him of the 
 hundred hands, whom the gods call 
 Briareus, and all men ^Egason." Inf. 
 XXI. Note 98. 
 
 He was struck by the thunderbolt 
 of Jove, or by a shaft of Apollo, at the 
 battle of Flegra. " Ugly medley of 
 sacred and profane, of revealed truth 
 and fiction ! " exclaims Venturi. 
 
 3 1 . Thymbraeus, a surname of Apol- 
 lo, from his temple in Thymbra. 
 
 34. Nimrod, who " began to be a 
 mighty one in the earth," and his 
 " tower whose top may reach unto 
 heaven." 
 
 Genesis xi. 8 : " So the Lord scat- 
 tered them abroad from thence upon 
 the face of all the earth ; and they left 
 off to build the city. Therefore is the 
 name of it called Babel ; because the 
 Lord did there confound the language 
 of all the earth, and from thence did 
 the Lord scatter them abroad upon the 
 face of all the earth." 
 
Pttrgatorio xn. 
 
 277 
 
 See also Inf. XXXI. Note 77. 
 
 36. Lombardi proposes in this line to 
 read "together" instead of "proud"; 
 which Biagioli thinks is " changing a 
 beautiful diamond for a bit of lead; and 
 stupid is he who accepts the change." 
 
 37. Among the Greek epigrams is 
 one on Niobe, which runs as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " This sepuichre within it has no corse ; 
 This corse without here has no sepulchre, 
 But to itself is sepulchre and corse." 
 
 Ovid, Metamorpb., VI., CroxalPs 
 Tr. : — 
 
 " Widowed and childless, lamentable state ! 
 A doleful sight, among the dead she sate; 
 Hardened with woes, a statue of despair, 
 To every breath of wind unmoved her hair; 
 Her cheek still reddening, but its color dead, 
 Faded her eyes, and set within her head. 
 No more her pliant tongue its motion keeps, 
 But stands congealed within her frozen lips. 
 Stagnate and dull, within her purple veins, 
 Its current stopped, the lifeless blood remains. 
 Her feet their usual offices refuse, 
 Her arms and neck their graceful gestures 
 
 lose : 
 Action and life from every part are gone, 
 And even her entrails turn to solid stone; 
 Yet still she weeps, and whirled by stormy 
 
 winds, 
 Borne through the air, her native country 
 
 finds ; 
 There fixed, she stands upon a bleaky hill, 
 There yet her marble cheeks eternal tears 
 
 distil." 
 
 39. Homer, Iliad, XXIV. 604, 
 makes them but twelve. " Twelve 
 children perished in her halls, six 
 daughters and six blooming sons; these 
 Apollo slew from his silver bow, en- 
 raged with Niobe ; and those Diana, 
 
 delighting in arrows, because she had 
 deemed herself equal to the beautiful- 
 cheeked Latona. She said that Latona 
 had borne only two, but she herself had 
 borne many ; nevertheless those, though 
 but two, exterminated all these." 
 But Ovid, Metamorpb., VI., says: — 
 
 "Seven are my daughters of a form divine, 
 With seven fair sons, an indefective line." 
 
 40. I Samuel xxxi. 4, 5: "Then 
 said Saul unto his armor-bearer, Draw 
 thy sword and thrust me through there- 
 with, lest these uncircumcised come 
 and thrust me through and abuse me. 
 But his armor-bearer would not, for 
 he was sore afraid ; therefore Saul took 
 a sword, and fell upon it. And when 
 his armor-bearer saw that Saul was 
 dead, he fell likewise upon his sword, 
 and died with him." 
 
 42. 2 Samuel i. 21 : "Ye mountains 
 of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither 
 let there be rain upon you." 
 
 43. Arachne, daughter of Idmon the 
 dyer of Colophon. Ovid, Metamorpb., 
 VI.: — 
 
 " One at the loom so excellently skilled, 
 That to the goddess she refused to yield. 
 Low was her birth, and small her native town, 
 She from her art alone obtained renown. 
 
 Nor would the work, when finished, please 
 
 so much, 
 As, while she wrought, to view each graceful 
 
 touch ; 
 Whether the shapeless wool in balls she 
 
 wound, 
 Or with quick motion turned the spindle 
 
 round, 
 Or with her pencil drew the neat design, 
 Pallas her mistress shone in every line. 
 
273 
 
 Notes 
 
 This the proud maid with scornful air denies, 
 And even the goddess at her work defies ; 
 Disowns her heavenly mistress every hour, 
 Nor asks her aid, nor deprecates her power. 
 Let us, she cries, but to a trial come, 
 And if she conquers, let her fix my doom." 
 
 It was rather an unfair trial of skill, 
 at the end of which Minerva, getting 
 angry, struck Arachne on the forehead 
 with her shuttle of box-wood. 
 
 "The unhappy maid, impatient of the wrong, 
 Down from a beam her injured person hung; 
 When Pallas, pitying her wretched state, 
 At once prevented and pronounced her fate : 
 'Live; but depend, vile wretch! ' the goddess 
 
 cried, 
 ' Doomed in suspense forever to be tied ; 
 That all your race, to utmost date of time, 
 May feel the vengeance and detest the crime.* 
 Then, going off, she sprinkled her with 
 
 juice 
 Which leaves of baneful aconite produce. 
 Touched with the poisonous drug, her flowing 
 
 hair 
 Fell to the ground and left her temples bare ; 
 Her usual features vanished from their place, 
 Her body lessened all, but most her face. 
 Her slender fingers, hanging on each side 
 With many joints, the use of legs supplied; 
 A spider's bag the rest, from which she gives 
 A thread, and still by constant weaving lives." 
 
 46. In the revolt of the Ten Tribes. 
 1 Kings xii. 18: "Then King Reho- 
 boam sent Adoram, who was over the 
 tribute; and all Israel stoned him with 
 stones, that he died ; therefore King 
 Rehoboam made speed to get him up 
 to his chariot, to flee to Jerusalem." 
 
 50. Amphiaraus, the soothsayer, 
 foreseeing his own death if he went 
 to the Theban war, concealed himself, 
 to avoid going. His wife Eriphyle, 
 bribed by a " golden necklace set with 
 
 diamonds," betrayed to her brother 
 Adrastus his hiding-place, and Amphia- 
 raus, departing, charged his son Alc- 
 meon to kill Eriphyle as soon as he 
 heard of his death. 
 
 Ovid, Metamorph., IX. : — 
 
 " The son shall bathe his hands in parent's 
 blood, 
 And in one act be both unjust and good." 
 
 Statius, Theb., II. 355, Lewis's Tr. : — 
 
 " Fair Eriphyle the rich gift beheld, 
 And her sick breast with secret envy swelled. 
 Not the late omens and the well-known tale 
 To cure her vain ambition aught avail. 
 O had the wretch by self-experience known 
 The future woes, and sorrows not her own ! 
 But fate decrees her wretched spouse must 
 
 bleed, 
 And the son's frenzy clear the mother's 
 
 deed." 
 
 53. Isaiah xxxvii. 38: "And it 
 came to pass, as he was worshipping 
 in the house of Nisroch his god, that 
 Adrammelech and Sharezer, his sons, 
 smote him with the sword ; and they 
 escaped into the land of Armenia, and 
 Esarhaddon, his son, reigned in his 
 stead." 
 
 56. Herodotus, Book I. Ch. 214, 
 Rawlinson's Tr. : " Tomyris, when 
 she found that Cyrus paid no heed to 
 her advice, collected all the forces of 
 her kingdom, and gave him battle. 
 Of all the combats in which the barba- 
 rians have engaged among themselves, 
 I reckon this to have been the fiercest. 
 .... The greater part of the army of 
 the Persians was destroyed, and Cyrus 
 himself fell, after reigning nine and 
 twenty years. Search was made among 
 
Purgatorio m. 
 
 279 
 
 the slain, by order of the queen, for 
 the body of Cyrus, and when it was 
 found, she took a skin, and, filling it 
 full of human blood, she dipped the 
 head of Cyrus in the gore, saying, as 
 she thus insulted the corse, ' I live 
 and have conquered thee in fight, and 
 yet by thee am I ruined ; for thou 
 tookest my son with guile ; but thus I 
 make good my threat, and give thee thy 
 fill of blood.' Of the many different 
 accounts which are given of the death 
 of Cyrus, this which I have followed 
 appears to me most worthy of credit." 
 
 59. After Judith had slain Holo- 
 fernes. "Judith xv. 1 : " And when 
 they that were in the tents heard, they 
 were astonished at the thing that was 
 done. And fear and trembling fell 
 upon them, so that there was no man 
 that durst abide in the sight of his 
 neighbor, but, rushing out all together, 
 they fled into every way of the plain 
 
 and of the hill country Now 
 
 when the children of Israel heard it, 
 they all fell upon them with one con- 
 sent, and slew them unto Chobai." 
 
 61. This tercet unites the "I saw," 
 "O," and "Displayed," of the preced- 
 ing passage, and binds the whole as 
 with a selvage* 
 
 67. Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 19: 
 "There was probably never a period 
 in which the influence of art over the 
 minds of men seemed to depend less 
 on its merely imitative power, than the 
 close of the thirteenth century. No 
 painting or sculpture at that time 
 reached more than a rude resemblance 
 of reality. Its despised perspective, 
 
 imperfect chiaroscuro, and unrestrained 
 flights of fantastic imagination, sepa- 
 rated the artist's work from nature by 
 an interval which there was no attempt 
 to disguise, and little to diminish. And 
 yet, at this very period, the greatest 
 poet of that, or perhaps of any other 
 age, and the attached friend of its 
 greatest painter, who must over and 
 over again have held full and free con- 
 versation with him respecting the ob- 
 jects of his art, speaks in the following 
 terms of painting, supposed to be car- 
 ried to its highest perfection : — 
 
 ' Qual di pennel fu maestro, e di stile 
 
 Che ritraesse 1* ombre, e i tratti, ch' ivi 
 Mirar farieno uno ingegno sottile. 
 Morti li morti, e i vivi parean vivi : 
 Non vide me' di me, chi vide il vero, 
 Quant' io calcai, fin che chinato givi.' 
 
 Dante has here clearly no other idea 
 of the highest art than that it should 
 bring back, as in a mirror or vision, 
 the aspect of things passed or absent. 
 The scenes of which he speaks are, on 
 the pavement, forever represented by 
 angelic power, so that the souls which 
 traverse this circle of the rock may see 
 them, as if the years of the world had 
 been rolled back, and they again stood 
 beside the actors in the moment of 
 action. Nor do I think that Dante's 
 authority is absolutely necessary to 
 compel us to admit that such art as this 
 might indeed be the highest possible. 
 Whatever delight we may have been 
 in the habit of taking in pictures, if it 
 were but truly offered to us to remove 
 at our will the canvas from the frame, 
 and in lieu of it to behold, fixed for- 
 
28o 
 
 Notes 
 
 ever, the image of some of those mighty- 
 scenes which it has been our way to 
 make mere themes for the artist's fancy, 
 ■ — if, for instance, we could again be- 
 hold the Magdalene receiving her par- 
 don at Christ's feet, or the disciples sit- 
 ting with him at the table of Emmaus, 
 — and this not feebly nor fancifully, 
 but as if some silver mirror, that had 
 leaned against the wall of the chamber, 
 had been miraculously commanded to 
 retain forever the colors that had flashed 
 upon it for an instant, — would we not 
 part with our picture, Titian's or Vero- 
 nese's though it might be ? " 
 
 8 1. The sixth hour of the day, or 
 noon of the second day. 
 
 102. Florence is here called ironi- 
 cally " the well guided " or well gov- 
 erned. Rubaconte is the name of the 
 most easterly of the bridges over the 
 Arno, and takes its name from Messer 
 Rubaconte, who was Podesta of Flor- 
 
 ence in 1236, when this bridge was 
 built. Above it on the hill stands the 
 church of San Miniato. This is the 
 hill which Michel Angelo fortified in 
 the siege of Florence. In early times 
 it was climbed by stairways. 
 
 105. In the good old days, before 
 any one had falsified the ledger of the 
 public accounts, or the standard of 
 measure. In Dante's time a certain 
 Messer Niccola tore out a leaf from the 
 public records, to conceal some villany 
 of his; and a certain Messer Durante, 
 a custom-house officer, diminished the 
 salt-measure by one stave. This is 
 again alluded to, Par. XVI. 105. 
 
 1 10. Matthew v. 3: "Blessed are 
 the poor in spirit : for theirs is the 
 kingdom of heaven." 
 
 It must be observed that all the 
 Latin lines in Dante should be chanted 
 with an equal stress on each syllable, 
 in order to make them rhythmical. 
 
 CANTO XIII 
 
 1. The Second Circle, or Cornice, 
 where is punished the sin of Envy ; 
 of which St. Augustine says : " Envy 
 is the hatred of another's felicity ; in 
 respect of superiors, because they are 
 not equal to them ; in respect of in- 
 feriors, lest they should be equal to 
 them ; in respect of equals, because 
 they are equal to them. Through envy 
 proceeded the fall of the world, and 
 the death of Christ." 
 
 9. The livid color of Envy. 
 
 14. The military precision with 
 which Virgil faces to the right is 
 Homeric. Biagioli says that Dante 
 expresses it " after his own fashion, 
 that is, entirely new and different from 
 mundane custom." 
 
 1 6. Boethius, Cons. Pbil.,Y. Met. 2 : — 
 
 " Him the Sun, then, rightly call, — 
 God who sees and lightens all." 
 
 29. John ii. 3 : '* And when they 
 wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith 
 unto him, They have no wine." 
 
Purgatorio xm. 
 
 281 
 
 Examples are first given of the virtue 
 opposite the vice here punished. These 
 are but "airy tongues that syllable men's 
 names "; and it must not be supposed 
 that the persons alluded to are actually 
 passing in the air. 
 
 33. The name of Orestes is here 
 shouted on account of the proverbial 
 friendship between him and Pylades. 
 When Orestes was condemned to death, 
 Pylades tried to take his place, exclaim- 
 ing, " I am Orestes." 
 
 36. Matthew v. 44 : " But I say 
 unto you, Love your enemies, bless 
 them that curse you, do good to them 
 that hate you, and pray for them which 
 despitefully use you and persecute you." 
 
 39. See Canto XIV. 147. 
 
 42. The next stairway leading from 
 the second to the third circle. 
 
 51. The Litany of All Saints. 
 
 92. Latian for Italian. 
 
 109. A Sienese lady living in banish- 
 ment at Colle, where from a tower 
 she witnessed the battle between her 
 townsmen and the Florentines. "Sapia 
 hated the Sienese," says Benvenuto, 
 " and placed herself at a window not 
 far from the field of battle, waiting 
 the issue with anxiety, and desiring the 
 rout and ruin of her own people. Her 
 desires being verified by the entire dis- 
 comfiture of the Sienese, and the death 
 of their captain," (Provenzan Salvani, 
 see Canto XL Note 121,)" exultant and 
 almost beside herself, she lifted her bold 
 face to heaven, and cried, « Now, O 
 God, do with me what thou wilt, do me 
 all the harm thou canst; now my pray- 
 ers are answered, and I die content.'" 
 
 vol. 11. 36 
 
 1 10. Gower, Confes. Amant., II. : — 
 
 " Whan I have sene another blithe 
 Of love and hadde a goodly chere, 
 Ethna, which brenneth yere by yere, 
 Was thanne nought so hote as I 
 Of thilke sore which prively 
 Mine hertes thought withinne brenneth." 
 
 114. Convito, IV. 23 : " Every ef- 
 fect, in so far as it is effect, receiveth 
 the likeness of its cause, as far as it can 
 retain it. Therefore, inasmuch as our 
 life, as has been said, and likewise that 
 of every living creature here below, is 
 caused by the heavens, and the heavens 
 reveal themselves to all these effects, not 
 in complete circle, but in part thereof, 
 so must its movement needs be above ; 
 and as an arch retains all lives nearly, 
 (and, I say, retains those of men as well 
 as of other living creatures,) ascending 
 and curving, they must be in the simili- 
 tude of an arch. Returning then to 
 our life, of which it is now question, 
 I say that it proceeds in the image of 
 this arch, ascending and descending." 
 
 122. The warm days near the end 
 of January are still called in Lombardy 
 / giorni della merla, the days of the 
 blackbird ; from an old legend, that 
 once in the sunny weather a blackbird 
 sang, " I fear thee no more, O Lord, 
 for the winter is over." 
 
 128. Peter Pettignano, or Pettinajo, 
 was a holy hermit, who saw visions 
 and wrought miracles at Siena. For- 
 syth, Italy, 149, describing the festival 
 of the Assumption in that city in 1802, 
 says : — 
 
 " The Pope had reserved for this 
 great festival the Beatification of Pe- 
 
282 
 
 Notes 
 
 ter, a Sienese comb-maker, whom the 
 Church had neglected to canonize till 
 now. Poor Peter was honored with 
 all the solemnity of music, high-mass, 
 an officiating cardinal, a florid pane- 
 gyric, pictured angels bearing his tools 
 to heaven, and combing their own hair 
 as they soared ; but he received five 
 hundred years ago a greater honor than 
 all, a verse of praise from Dante." 
 
 138. Dante's besetting sin was not 
 envy, but pride. 
 
 144. On the other side of the world. 
 
 153. The vanity of the Sienese is 
 also spoken of Inf. XXIX. 123. 
 
 152. Talamone is a seaport in the 
 Maremma, "many times abandoned by 
 its inhabitants," says the Ottimo, "on 
 account of the malaria. The town is 
 utterly in ruins ; but as the harbor is 
 deep, and would be of great utility if 
 the place were inhabited, the Sienese 
 have spent much money in repairing it 
 
 many times, and bringing in inhabit- 
 ants ; it is of little use, for the malaria 
 prevents the increase of population." 
 Talamone is the ancient Telamon, 
 where Marius landed on his return from 
 Africa. 
 
 153. The Diana is a subterranean 
 river, which the Sienese were in search 
 of for many years to supply the city 
 with water. " They never have been 
 able to find it," says the Ottimo, " and 
 yet they still hope." In Dante's time 
 it was evidently looked upon as an idle 
 dream. To the credit of the Sienese 
 be it said, they persevered, and finally 
 succeeded in obtaining the water so 
 patiently sought for. The Pozxo Dia- 
 na, or Diana's Well, is still to be seen 
 at the Convent of the Carmen. 
 
 154. The admirals who go to Ta- 
 lamone to superintend the works will 
 lose there more than their hope, name- 
 ly, their lives. 
 
 CANTO XIV. 
 
 1. The subject of the preceding 
 canto is here continued. Compare the 
 introductory lines with those of Can- 
 to V. 
 
 7. These two spirits prove to be 
 Guido del Duca and Rinieri da Cal- 
 boli. 
 
 17. A mountain in the Apennines, 
 northeast of Florence, from which the 
 Arno takes its rise. Ampere, Voyage 
 Dantesque, p. 246, thus describes this 
 region of the Val d' Arno. " Farther 
 
 on is another tower, the tower of Por- 
 ciano, which is said to have been in- 
 habited by Dante. From there I had 
 still to climb the summits of the Falte- 
 rona. I started towards midnight in 
 order to arrive before sunrise. I said 
 to myself, How many times the poet, 
 whose footprints I am following, has 
 wandered in these mountains ! It was 
 by these little alpine paths that he 
 came and went, on his way to friends 
 in Romagna or friends in Urbino, his 
 
Purgatorio xir. 
 
 283 
 
 heart agitated with a hope that was 
 never to be fulfilled. I figured to my- 
 self Dante walking with a guide under 
 the light of the stars, receiving all 
 the impressions produced by wild and 
 weather-beaten regions, steep roads, 
 deep valleys, and the accidents of a 
 long and difficult route, impressions 
 .which he would transfer to his poem. 
 It is enough to have read this poem to 
 be certain that its author has travelled 
 much, has wandered much. Dante 
 really walks with Virgil. He fatigues 
 himself with climbing, he stops to take 
 breath, he uses his hands when feet are 
 insufficient. He gets lost, and asks the 
 way. He observes the height of the 
 sun and stars. In a word, one finds the 
 habits and souvenirs of the traveller in 
 every verse, or rather at every step of 
 his poetic pilgrimage. 
 
 " Dante has certainly climbed the 
 top of the Falterona. It is upon this 
 summit, from which all the Valley 
 of the Arno is embraced, that one 
 should read the singular imprecation 
 which the poet has uttered against this 
 whole valley. He follows the course 
 of the river, and as he advances marks 
 every place he comes to with fierce in- 
 vective. The farther he goes, the 
 more his hate redoubles in violence 
 and bitterness. It is a piece of topo- 
 graphical satire, of which I know no 
 other example." 
 
 32. The Apennines, whose long 
 chain ends in Calabria, opposite Cape 
 Peloro in Sicily. JSneid, III. 410, 
 Davidson's Tr. : — 
 
 " But when, after setting out, the 
 
 wind shall waft you to the Sicilian 
 coast, and the straits of narrow Pelorus 
 shall open wider to the eye, veer to 
 the land on the left, and to the sea on 
 the left, by a long circuit; fly the right 
 both sea and shore. These lands, they 
 say, once with violence and vast deso- 
 lation convulsed, (such revolutions a 
 long course of time is able to produce,) 
 slipped asunder ; when in continuity 
 both lands were one, the sea rushed 
 impetuously between, and by its waves 
 tore the Italian side from that of Sicily; 
 and with a narrow frith runs between 
 the fields and cities separated by the 
 shores. Scylla guards the right side, 
 implacable Charybdis the left, and 
 thrice with the deepest eddies of its 
 gulf swallows up the vast billows, 
 headlong in, and again spouts them out 
 by turns high into the air, and lashes 
 the stars with the waves." 
 And Lucan, Phars., II. : — 
 " And still we see on fair Sicilia's sands 
 Where part of Apennine Pelorus stands." 
 
 And Shelley, Ode to Liberty : — 
 
 " O'er the lit waves every ^Eolian isle 
 From Pithecusa to Pelorus 
 Howls, and leaps, and glares in chorus." 
 
 40. When Dante wrote this invec- 
 tive against the inhabitants of the Val 
 d' Arno, he probably had in mind the 
 following passage of Boethius, Cons. 
 PbiL, IV. Pros. 3, Ridpath's Tr. : — 
 
 "Hence it again follows, that every- 
 thing which strays from what is good 
 ceases to be ; the wicked therefore 
 must cease to be what they were ; but 
 that they were formerly men, their 
 human shape, which still remains, tes- 
 
284 
 
 Notes 
 
 tifies. By degenerating into* wicked- 
 ness, then, they must cease to be men. 
 But as virtue alone can exalt a man 
 above what is human, so it is on the 
 contrary evident, that vice, as it divests 
 him of his nature, must sink him below 
 humanity ; you ought therefore by 
 no means to consider him as a man 
 whom vice has rendered vicious. Tell 
 me, What difference is there betwixt a 
 wolf who lives by rapine, and a robber 
 whom the desire of another's wealth 
 stimulates to commit all manner of 
 violence? Is there anything that bears 
 a stronger resemblance to a wrathful 
 dog who barks at passengers, than a 
 man whose dangerous tongue attacks all 
 the world ? What is liker to a fox 
 than a cheat, who spreads his snares in 
 secret to undermine and ruin you ? to 
 a lion, than a furious man who is al- 
 ways ready to devour you ? to a deer, 
 than a coward who is afraid of his own 
 shadow ? to an ass, than a mortal who 
 is slow, dull, and indolent ? to the 
 birds of the air, than a man volatile 
 and inconstant ? and what, in fine, is 
 a debauchee who is immersed in the 
 lowest sensual gratifications, but a hog 
 who wallows in the mire ? Upon the 
 whole, it is an unquestionable truth 
 that a man who forsakes virtue ceases 
 to be a man ; and, as it is impossible 
 that he can ascend in the scale of 
 beings, he must of necessity degenerate 
 and sink into a beast." 
 
 43. The people of Casentino. For- 
 syth, Italy, p. 1 26 : — 
 
 " On returning down to the Casen- 
 tine, we could trace along the Arno 
 
 the mischief which followed a late at- 
 tempt to clear some Apennines of their 
 woods. Most of the soil, which was 
 then loosened from the roots and wash- 
 ed down by the torrents, lodged in this 
 plain ; and left immense beds of sand 
 and large rolling stones on the very 
 spot where Dante describes 
 
 'Li ruscelletti che de' verdi colli 
 
 Del Casentin discendon giuso in Arno, 
 Facendo i lor canali e freddi e molli.' 
 
 " I was surprised to find so large a 
 town as Bibbiena in a country devoid of 
 manufactures, remote from public roads, 
 and even deserted by its landholders ; 
 for the Niccolini and Vecchietti, who 
 possess most of this district, prefer the 
 obscurer pleasures of Florence to their 
 palaces and pre-eminence here. The 
 only commodity which the Casentines 
 trade in is pork. Signore Baglione, a 
 gentleman at whose house I slept here, 
 ascribed the superior flavor of their 
 hams, which are esteemed the best in 
 Italy and require no cooking, to the 
 dryness of the air, the absence of stag- 
 nant water, and the quantity of chest- 
 nuts given to their hogs. Bibbiena has 
 been long renowned for its chestnuts, 
 which the peasants dry in a kiln, grind 
 into a sweet flour, and then convert 
 into bread, cakes, and polenta." 
 
 46. The people of Arezzo. For- 
 syth, Italy, p. 128 : — 
 
 " The Casentines were no favorites 
 with Dante, who confounds the men 
 with their hogs. Yet, following the 
 divine poet down the Arno, we came 
 to a race still more forbidding. The 
 Aretine peasants seem to inherit the 
 
Purgatorio xiv. 
 
 285 
 
 coarse, surly visages of their ancestors, 
 whom he styles Bottoli. Meeting one 
 girl, who appeared more cheerful than 
 her neighbors, we asked her how far it 
 was from Arezzo, and received for an- 
 swer, 'Quanto c'e.' 
 
 " The valley widened as we ad- 
 vanced, and when Arezzo appeared, 
 the river left us abruptly, wheeling off 
 from its environs at a sharp angle, 
 which Dante converts into a snout, 
 and points disdainfully against the cur- 
 rish race 
 
 " On entering the Val di Chiana, 
 we passed through a peasantry more 
 civil and industrious than their Aretine 
 neighbors. One poor girl, unlike the 
 last whom we accosted, was driving a 
 laden ass, bearing a billet of wood on 
 her head, spinning with the rocca, and 
 singing as she went on. Others were 
 returning with their sickles from the 
 fields which they had reaped in the 
 Maremma, to their own harvest on the 
 hills. That contrast which struck me 
 in the manners of two cantons so near 
 as Cortona to Arezzo, can only be a 
 vestige of their ancient rivality while 
 separate republics. Men naturally dis- 
 like the very virtues of their enemies, 
 and affect qualities as remote from theirs 
 as they can well defend." 
 
 50. The Florentines. 
 
 53. The Pisans. 
 
 57. At the close of these vitupera- 
 tions, perhaps to soften the sarcasm by 
 making it more general, Benvenuto ap- 
 pends this note : " What Dante says 
 of the inhabitants of the Val d' Arno 
 might be said of the greater part of the 
 
 Italians, nay, of the world. Dante, be- 
 ing once asked why he had put more 
 Christians than Gentiles into Hell, 
 replied, ' Because I have known the 
 Christians better.' " 
 
 58. Messer Fulcieri da Calboli of 
 Forli, nephew of Rinieri. He was 
 Podesta of Florence in 1302, and, be- 
 ing bribed by the Neri, had many of 
 the Bianchi put to death. 
 
 64. Florence, the habitation of these 
 wolves, left so stripped by Fulcieri, on 
 his retiring from office, that it will 
 be long in recovering its former pros- 
 perity. 
 
 81. Guido del Duca of Brettinoro, 
 near Forli, in Romagna ; nothing re- 
 mains but the name. He and his com- 
 panion Rinieri were " gentlemen of 
 worth, if they had not been burned up 
 with envy." 
 
 87. On worldly goods, where selfish- 
 ness excludes others ; in contrast with 
 the spiritual, which increase by being 
 shared. See Canto XV. 45. 
 
 88. Rinieri da Calboli. " He was 
 very famous," says the Ottimo, and his- 
 tory says no more. In the Cento No- 
 velle Antiche, Nov. 44, Roscoe's Tr., 
 he figures thus : — 
 
 " A certain knight was one day en- 
 treating a lady whom he loved to smile 
 upon his wishes, and among other deli- 
 cate arguments which he pressed upon 
 her was that of his own superior 
 wealth, elegance, and accomplishments, 
 especially when compared with the 
 merits of her own liege-lord, ' whose 
 extreme ugliness, madam,' he contin- 
 ued, ' I think I need not insist upon.' 
 
286 
 
 Notes 
 
 Her husband, who overheard this com- 
 pliment from the place of his conceal- 
 ment, immediately replied, ' Pray, sir, 
 mend your own manners, and do not 
 vilify other people.' The name of the 
 plain gentleman was Lizio di Valbona, 
 and Messer Rinieri da Calvoli that of 
 the other. 
 
 92. In Romagna, which is bounded 
 by the Po, the Apennines, the Adriat- 
 ic, and the river Reno, that passes near 
 Bologna. 
 
 93. For study and pleasure. 
 
 97. Of Lizio and Manardi the Ot- 
 timo says : " Messer Lizio di Valbona, 
 a courteous gentleman, in order to give 
 a dinner at Forli, sold half his silken 
 bedquilt for sixty florins. Arrigo Ma- 
 nardi was of Brettinoro; he was a gen- 
 tleman full of courtesy and honor, was 
 fond of entertaining guests, made pres- 
 ents of robes and horses, loved honor- 
 able men, and all his life was devoted 
 to largess and good living." 
 
 The marriage of Riccardo Manardi 
 with Lizio's daughter Caterina is the 
 subject of one of the tales of the De- 
 camerone, V. 4. Pietro Dante says, that, 
 when Lizio was told of the death of 
 his dissipated son, he replied, "It is 
 no news to me, he never was alive." 
 
 98. Of Pier Traversaro the Ottimo 
 says : " He was of Ravenna, a man of 
 most gentle blood"; and of Guido di 
 Carpigna : " He was of Montefeltro. 
 .... Most of the time he lived at 
 Brettinoro, and surpassed all others in 
 generosity, loved for the sake of loving, 
 and lived handsomely." 
 
 100. " This Messer Fabbro," says 
 
 the Ottimo, "was born of low parents, 
 and lived so generously that the author 
 (Dante) says there never was his like 
 in Bologna." 
 
 10 1. The Ottimo again : " This 
 Messer Bernardino, son of Fosco, a 
 farmer, and of humble occupation, be- 
 came so excellent by his good works, 
 that he was an honor to Faenza ; and 
 he was named with praise, and the old 
 grandees were not ashamed to visit 
 him, to see his magnificence, and to 
 hear his pleasant jests." 
 
 104. Guido da Prata, from the vil- 
 lage of that name, between Faenza and 
 Forli, and Ugolin d' Azzo of Faenza, 
 according to the same authority, though 
 " of humble birth, rose to such great 
 honor, that, leaving their native places, 
 they associated with the noblemen be- 
 fore mentioned." 
 
 106. Frederick Tignoso was a gen- 
 tleman of Rimini, living in Brettinoro. 
 " A man of great mark," says Buti, 
 " with his band of friends." Accord- 
 ing to Benvenuto, " he had beautiful 
 blond hair, and was called tignoso (the 
 scurvy fellow) by way of antiphrase." 
 The Ottimo speaks of him as follows : 
 "He avoided the city as much as pos- 
 sible, as a place hostile to gentlemen, 
 but when he was in it, he kept open 
 house." 
 
 107. Ancient and honorable fami- 
 lies of Ravenna. There is a story of 
 them in the Decamerone, Gior. V. Nov. 
 8, which is too long to quote. Upon 
 this tale is founded Dryden's poem of 
 Theodore and Honoria. 
 
 109. Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, I. 1: — 
 
Purgatorio xiv. 
 
 287 
 
 "The dames, the cavaliers, the arms, the loves, 
 The courtesies, the daring deeds I sing." 
 
 1 12. Brettinoro, now Bertinoro, is a 
 small town in Romagna, between Forli 
 and Cesena, in which lived many of 
 the families that have just been men- 
 tioned. The hills about it are still 
 celebrated for their wines, as its in- 
 habitants were in old times for their 
 hospitality. The following anecdote 
 is told of them by the Ottimo, and also 
 in nearly the same words in the Cento 
 Novelle Anticbe, Nov. 89 : — 
 
 " Among other laudable customs of 
 the nobles of Brettinoro was that of 
 hospitality, and their not permitting 
 any man in the town to keep an inn 
 for money. But there was a stone 
 column in the middle of the town," 
 (upon which were rings or knockers, 
 as if all the front-doors were there rep- 
 resented,) " and to this, as soon as a 
 stranger made his appearance, he was 
 conducted, and to one of the rings 
 hitched his horse or hung his hat upon 
 it; and thus, as chance decreed, he was 
 taken to the house of the gentleman to 
 whom the ring belonged, and honored 
 according to his rank. This column 
 and its rings were invented to remove 
 all cause of quarrel among the noble- 
 men, who used to run to get possession 
 of a stranger, as now-a-days they al- 
 most run away from him." 
 
 115. Towns in Romagna. " Bag- 
 nacavallo, and Castrocaro, and Co- 
 nio," says the Ottimo, " were all habi- 
 tations of courtesy and honor. Now 
 in Bagnacavallo the Counts are extinct; 
 and he (Dante) says it does well to 
 
 produce no more of them because they 
 had degenerated like those of Conio 
 and Castrocaro. 
 
 118. The Pagani were Lords of 
 Faenza and Imola. The head of the 
 family, Mainardo, was surnamed "the 
 Devil." — See Inf. XXVII. Note 49. 
 His bad repute will always be a re- 
 proach to the family. 
 
 I zi. A nobleman of Faenza, who 
 died without heirs, and thus his name 
 was safe. 
 
 132. Milton, Comus: — 
 
 " Of calling shapes and beckoning shadows 
 dire, 
 And airy tongues that syllable men's names." 
 
 These voices in the air proclaim ex- 
 amples of envy. 
 
 133. Genesis iv. 13, 14: "And Cain 
 
 said unto the Lord, Every one 
 
 that findeth me shall slay me." 
 
 139. Aglauros through envy op- 
 posed the interview of Mercury with 
 her sister Herse, and was changed by 
 the god into stone. Ovid, Metamorpb., 
 I., Addison's Tr. : — 
 
 " • Then keep thy seat forever,' cries the god, 
 
 And touched the door, wide opening to his 
 rod. 
 
 Fain would she rise and stop him, but she 
 found 
 
 Her trunk too heavy to forsake the ground ; 
 
 Her joints are all benumbed, her hands are 
 pale, 
 
 And marble now appears in every nail. 
 
 As when a cancer in the body feeds, 
 
 And gradual death from limb to limb pro- 
 ceeds, 
 
 So does the chillness to each vital part 
 
 Spread by degrees, and creeps into her heart ; 
 
 Till hardening everywhere, and speechless 
 grown, 
 
288 
 
 Notes 
 
 She sits unmoved, and freezes to a stone. 
 But still her envious hue and sullen mien 
 Are in the sedentary figure seen." 
 
 147. The falconer's call or lure, 
 which he whirls round in the air to 
 attract the falcon on the wing. 
 
 148. Ovid, Metamorph., L, Dry- 
 den's Tr. : — 
 
 "Thus, while the mute creation downward bend 
 Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend, 
 
 Man looks aloft ; and with erected eyes 
 Beholds his own hereditary skies." 
 
 150. Beaumont and Fletcher, The 
 Laws of Candy, IV. 1 : — 
 "Seldom despairing men look up to heaven, 
 Although it still speak to 'em in its glories ; 
 For when sad thoughts perplex the mind of 
 
 man, 
 There is a plummet in the heart that weighs 
 And pulls us, living, to the dust we came 
 from." 
 
 CANTO XV. 
 
 I. In this canto is described the 
 ascent to the Third Circle of the 
 mountain. The hour indicated by the 
 peculiarly Dantesque introduction is 
 three hours before sunset, or the be- 
 ginning of that division of the canoni- 
 cal day called Vespers. Dante states 
 this simple fact with curious circum- 
 locution, as if he would imitate the 
 celestial sphere in this scherzoso move- 
 ment. The beginning of the day is 
 sunrise ; consequently the end of the 
 third hour, three hours after sunrise, 
 is represented by an arc of the celestial 
 sphere measuring forty-five degrees. 
 The sun had still an equal space to 
 pass over before his setting. This 
 would make it afternoon in Purgatory, 
 and midnight in Tuscany, where Dante 
 was writing the poem. 
 
 20. From a perpendicular. 
 
 38. Matthew v. 7 : " Blessed are 
 the merciful, for they shall obtain 
 mercy"; — sung by the spirits that 
 
 remained behind. See Canto XII. 
 Note no. 
 
 39. Perhaps an allusion to " what 
 the Spirit saith unto the churches," 
 Revelation ii. 7 : " To him that over- 
 cometh will I give to eat of the tree 
 of life, which is in the midst of the 
 paradise of God." And also the "hid- 
 den manna," and the " morning star," 
 and the " white raiment," and the name 
 not blotted "out of the book of life." 
 
 55. Milton, Par. Lost, V. 71 : — 
 "Since good the more 
 
 Communicated, more abundant grows." 
 
 67. Convito, IV. 20 : " According 
 to the Apostle, * Every good gift and 
 every perfect gift is from above, and 
 cometh down from the Father of 
 lights.' He says then that God only 
 giveth this grace to the soul of him 
 whom he sees to be prepared and 
 disposed in his person to receive this 
 
 divine act Whence if the soul is 
 
 imperfectly placed, it is not disposed 
 
Purgatorio xv. 
 
 289 
 
 to receive this blessed and divine infu- 
 sion ; as when a pearl is badly dis- 
 posed, or is imperfect, it cannot receive 
 the celestial virtue, as the noble Gui- 
 do Guinizzelli says in an ode of his, 
 beginning, 
 
 ' To noble heart love doth for shelter fly.' 
 The soul, then, may be ill placed in 
 the person through defect of tempera- 
 ment, or of time ; and in such a soul 
 this divine radiance never shines. And 
 of those whose souls are deprived of 
 this light it may be said that they are 
 like valleys turned toward the north, 
 or like subterranean caverns, where the 
 light of the sun never falls, unless re- 
 flected from some other place illumi- 
 nated by it." 
 
 The following are the first two stan- 
 zas of Guido's Ode : — 
 
 " To noble heart love doth for shelter fly, 
 
 As seeks the bird the forest's leafy shade ; 
 Love was not felt till noble heart beat 
 
 high, 
 Nor before love the noble heart was made 5 
 Soon as the sun's broad flame 
 Was formed, so soon the clear light filled 
 
 the air, 
 Yet was not till he came ; 
 So love springs up in noble breasts, and 
 
 there 
 Has its appointed space, 
 As heat in the bright flame finds its allotted 
 
 place. 
 
 " Kindles in noble heart the fire of love, 
 As hidden virtue in the precious stone j 
 This virtue comes not from the stars above, 
 Till round it the ennobling sun has shone j 
 But when his powerful blaze 
 Has drawn forth what was vile, the stars 
 
 impart 
 Strange virtue in their rays ; 
 VOL. II. 37 
 
 And thus when nature doth create the heart 
 Noble, and pure, and high, 
 Like virtue from the star, love comes from 
 woman's eye." 
 
 70. Par. XIV. 40 : — 
 
 " Its brightness is proportioned to the ardor, 
 The ardor to the vision, and the vision 
 Equals what grace it has above its merit." 
 
 89. Luke ii. 48 : " And his mother 
 said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus 
 dealt with us ? behold, thy father and 
 I have sought thee sorrowing." 
 
 gj. The contest between Neptune 
 and Minerva for the right of naming 
 Athens, in which Minerva carried the 
 day by the vote of the women. This 
 is one of the subjects which Minerva 
 wrought in her trial of skill with 
 Arachne. Ovid, Metamorph., VI. : — 
 
 " Pallas in figures wrought the heavenly powers, 
 
 And Mars's hill among the Athenian towers. 
 
 On lofty thrones twice six celestials sate, 
 
 Jove in the midst, and held their warm debate ; 
 
 The subject weighty, and well known to fame, 
 
 From whom the city should receive its name. 
 
 Each god by proper features was expressed, 
 
 Jove with majestic mien excelled the rest. 
 
 His three-forked mace the dewy sea-god 
 shook, 
 
 And, looking sternly, smote the ragged rock ; 
 
 When from the stone leapt forth a sprightly 
 steed, 
 
 And Neptune claims the city for the deed. 
 Herself she blazons, with a glittering spear, 
 
 And crested helm that veiled her braided hair, 
 
 With shield, and scaly breastplate, imple- 
 ments of war. 
 
 Struck with her pointed lance, the teeming 
 earth 
 
 Seemed to produce a new, surprising birth ; 
 
 When from the glebe the pledge of conquest 
 sprung, 
 
 A tree pale-green with fairest olives hung." 
 
290 
 
 Notes 
 
 101. Pisistratus, the tyrant ofAthens, 
 who used his power so nobly as to 
 make the people forget the usurpation 
 by which he had attained it. Among 
 his good deeds was the collection and 
 preservation of the Homeric poems, 
 which but for him might have perished. 
 He was also the first to found a public 
 library in Athens. This anecdote is 
 told by Valerius Maximus, Fact, ac 
 Diet., VI. i. 
 
 106. The stoning of Stephen. Acts 
 vii. 54: " They gnashed on him with 
 
 their teeth. But he, being full of the 
 Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly into 
 
 heaven Then they cried out with 
 
 a loud voice, and stopped their ears, 
 and ran upon him with one accord, and 
 cast him out of the city, and stoned 
 
 him And he kneeled down, and 
 
 cried with a loud voice, Lord, lay not 
 this sin to their charge ! And when 
 he had said this, he fell asleep." 
 
 1 17. He recognizes it to be a vision, 
 but not false, because it symbolized the 
 truth. 
 
 CANTO XVI. 
 
 1. The Third Circle of Purgatory, 
 and the punishment of the Sin of 
 Pride. 
 
 2. Poor, or impoverished of its stars 
 by clouds. The same expression is 
 applied to the Arno, Canto XIV. 45, 
 to indicate its want of water. 
 
 19. In the Litany of the Saints : — 
 
 " Lamb of God, who takest away 
 the sins of the world, spare us, O 
 Lord. 
 
 " Lamb of God, who takest away 
 the sins of the world, graciously hear 
 us, O Lord. 
 
 " Lamb of God, who takest away 
 the sins of the world, have mercy on 
 us!" 
 
 27. Still living the life temporal, 
 where time is measured by the calen- 
 dar. 
 
 46. Marco Lombardo was a Vene- 
 tian nobleman, a man of wit and learn- 
 
 ing and a friend of Dante. " Nearly 
 all that he gained," says the Ottimo, 
 
 " he spent in charity He visited 
 
 Paris, and, as long as his money lasted, 
 he was esteemed for his valor and 
 courtesy. Afterwards he depended 
 upon those richer than himself, and 
 lived and died honorably." There 
 are some anecdotes of him in the 
 Cento Nov elle Antiche, Nov. 41, 52, 
 hardly worth quoting. 
 
 It is doubtful whether the name of 
 Lombardo is a family name, or only 
 indicates that Marco was an Italian, 
 after the fashion then prevalent among 
 the French of calling all Italians Lom- 
 bards. See Note 124. 
 
 Benvenuto says of him that he "was 
 a man of noble mind, but disdainful, 
 and easily moved to anger." 
 
 Buti's portrait is as follows : " This 
 Marco was a Venetian, called Marco 
 
Purgatorio xvl 
 
 291 
 
 Daca ; and was a very learned man, 
 and had many political virtues, and 
 was very courteous, giving to poor 
 noblemen all that he gained, and he 
 gained much ; for he was a courtier, 
 and was much beloved for his virtue, 
 and much was given him by the no- 
 bility ; and as he gave to those who 
 were in need, so he lent to all who 
 asked. So that, coming to die, and 
 having much still due to him, he made 
 a will, and among other bequests this, 
 that whoever owed him should not be 
 held to pay the debt, saying, ' Who- 
 ever has, may keep.' " 
 
 Portarelli thinks that this Marco 
 may be Marco Polo the traveller ; but 
 this is inadmissible, as he was still 
 living at the time of Dante's death. 
 
 57. What Guido del Duca has told 
 him of the corruption of Italy, in Can- 
 to XIV. 
 
 64. Ovid, Metamorph., X., Ozell's 
 Tr. : — 
 
 " The god upon its leaves 
 The sad expression of his sorrow weaves, 
 And to this hour the mournful purple wears 
 Ai, at, inscribed in funeral characters." 
 
 67. See the article Cabala, at the 
 end of Vol. III. 
 
 69. Boethius, Cons. Pbil.,V. Prosa 2, 
 Ridpath's Tr. : — 
 
 '"But in this indissoluble chain of 
 causes, can we preserve the liberty of 
 the will? Does this fatal Necessity re- 
 strain the motions of the human soul?' 
 — ' There is no reasonable being,' re- 
 plied she, ' who has not freedom of 
 will : for every being distinguished 
 with this faculty is endowed with judg- 
 
 ment to perceive the differences of 
 things; to discover what he is to avoid 
 or pursue. Now what a person esteems 
 desirable, he desires ; but what he 
 thinks ought to be avoided, he shuns. 
 Thus every rational creature hath a 
 liberty of choosing and rejecting. But 
 I do not assert that this liberty is equal 
 in all beings. Heavenly substances, 
 who are exalted above us, have an en- 
 lightened judgment, an incorruptible 
 will, and a power ever at command 
 effectually to accomplish their desires. 
 With regard to man, his immaterial 
 spirit is also free ; but it is most at 
 liberty when employed in the contem- 
 plation of the Divine mind; it becomes 
 less so when it enters into a body; and 
 is still more restrained when it is im- 
 prisoned in a terrestrial habitation, 
 composed of members of clay ; and is 
 reduced, in fine, to the most extreme 
 servitude when, by plunging into the 
 pollutions of vice, it totally departs 
 from reason : for the soul no sooner 
 turns her eye from the radiance of su- 
 preme truth to dark and base objects, 
 but she is involved in a mist of igno- 
 rance, assailed by impure desires ; by 
 yielding to which she increases her 
 thraldom, and thus the freedom which 
 she derives from nature becomes in 
 some measure the cause of her slavery. 
 But the eye of Providence, which sees 
 everything from eternity, perceives all 
 this ; and that same Providence dis- 
 poses everything she has predestinated, 
 in the order it deserves. As Homer 
 says of the sun, It sees everything and 
 hears everything.' " 
 
292 
 
 Notes 
 
 Also Milton, Parad. Lost, II. 557: — 
 
 " Others apart sat on a hill retired, 
 In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high 
 Of providence, foreknowledge, will and fate, 
 Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, 
 And found no end, in wandering mazes lost." 
 
 See also Par. XVII. Note 40. 
 
 70. Boethius, Cons. Pbil.,Y . Prosa 3, 
 Ridpath's Tr. : — 
 
 " But I shall now endeavor to demon- 
 strate, that, in whatever way the chain 
 of causes is disposed, the event of 
 things which are foreseen is necessary ; 
 although prescience may not appear to 
 be the necessitating cause of their be- 
 falling. For example, if a person sits, 
 the opinion formed of him that he is 
 seated is of necessity true ; but by in- 
 verting the phrase, if the opinion is 
 true that he is seated, he must neces- 
 sarily sit. In both cases, then, there is 
 a necessity ; in the latter, that the per- 
 son sits ; in the former, that the opin- 
 ion concerning him is true : but the 
 person doth not sit, because the opin- 
 ion of his sitting is true, but the opin- 
 ion is rather true because the action 
 of his being seated was antecedent in 
 time. Thus, though the truth of the 
 opinion may be the effect of the person 
 taking a seat, there is, nevertheless, a 
 necessity common to both. The same 
 method of reasoning, I think, should be 
 employed with regard to the prescience 
 of God, and future contingencies ; for, 
 allowing it to be true that events are 
 foreseen because they are to happen, 
 and that they do not befall because 
 they are foreseen, it is still necessary 
 that what is to happen must be fore- 
 
 seen by God, and that what is foreseen 
 must take place. This then is of itself 
 sufficient to destroy all idea of human 
 liberty." 
 
 78. Ptolemy says, " The wise man 
 shall control the stars"; and the Turk- 
 ish proverb, " Wit and a strong will 
 are superior to Fate." 
 
 79. Though free, you are subject to 
 the divine power which has immedi- 
 ately breathed into you the soul, and 
 the soul is not subject to the influence 
 of the stars, as the body is. 
 
 84. Shakespeare, Lear, V. 3 : — 
 " And take upon 's the mystery of things, 
 As if we were God's spies." 
 
 92. Conv ito, I V. 1 2 : "The supreme 
 desire of everything, and that first given 
 by nature, is to return to its source ; 
 and since God is the source of our 
 souls, and maker of them in his own 
 likeness, as is written, ' Let us make 
 man in our image, after our likeness,' 
 to him this soul chiefly desireth to re- 
 turn. And like as a pilgrim, who goeth 
 upon a road on which he never was be- 
 fore, thinketh every house he seeth afar 
 off to be an inn, and, not finding it so, 
 directeth his trust to the next, and thus 
 from house to house until he reacheth 
 the inn; in like manner our soul, pres- 
 ently as she entereth the new and un- 
 travelled road of this life, turneth her 
 eyes to the goal of her supreme good; 
 and therefore whatever thing she seeth 
 that seemeth to have some good in it, 
 she believeth to be that. And because 
 her knowledge at first is imperfect, 
 not being experienced nor trained, 
 small goods seem great, and there- 
 
Purgatorio xvi. 
 
 293 
 
 fore with them beginneth her desire. 
 Hence we see children desire exceed- 
 ingly an apple; and then, going farther, 
 desire a little bird; and farther still, a 
 beautiful dress; and then a horse; and 
 then a woman ; and then wealth not 
 very great, and then greater, and then 
 greater still. And this cometh to pass, 
 because she findeth not in any of these 
 things that which she is seeking, and 
 trusteth to find it farther on." 
 
 96. Henry Vaughan, Sacred Po- 
 ems : — 
 
 " They are indeed our pillar-fires, 
 
 Seen as we go ; 
 They are that city's shining spires 
 
 We travel to." 
 
 99. Leviticus xi. 4 : " The camel 
 because he cheweth the cud, but di- 
 videth not the hoof: he is unclean to 
 you." Dante applies these words to 
 the Pope as temporal sovereign. 
 
 101. Worldly goods. As in the old 
 French satirical verses : — ■ 
 
 "Au temps passe du siecle d'or, 
 Crosse de bois, eveque d'or; 
 Maintenant changent lcs lois, 
 Crosse d'or, eveque de bois." 
 
 107. The Emperor and the Pope ; 
 the temporal and spiritual power. 
 
 115. Lombardy and Romagna. 
 
 117. The dissension and war be- 
 tween the Emperor Frederick the Sec- 
 ond and Pope Gregory the Ninth. 
 Milman, Hist. Lat. Christ., Book X. 
 Ch. 3, says : — 
 
 " The Empire and the Papacy were 
 now to meet in their last mortal and 
 implacable strife ; the two first acts of 
 this tremendous drama, separated by 
 
 an interval of many years, were to be 
 developed during the pontificate of a 
 prelate who ascended the throne of St. 
 Peter at the age of eighty. Nor was 
 this strife for any specific point in dis- 
 pute, like the right of investiture, but 
 avowedly for supremacy on one side, 
 which hardly deigned to call itself in- 
 dependence ; for independence, on the 
 other, which remotely at least aspired 
 after supremacy. Caesar would bear 
 no superior, the successor of St. Peter 
 no equal. The contest could not have 
 begun under men more strongly con- 
 trasted, or more determinedly oppug- 
 nant in character, than Gregory the 
 Ninth and Frederick the Second. Greg- 
 ory retained the ambition, the vigor, 
 almost the activity of youth, with the 
 stubborn obstinacy, and something of 
 the irritable petulance, of old age. He 
 was still master of all his powerful fac- 
 ulties ; his knowledge of affairs, of 
 mankind, of the peculiar interests of 
 almost all the nations in Christendom, 
 acquired by long employment in the 
 most important negotiations both by 
 Innocent the Third and by Honorius 
 the Third ; eloquence which his own 
 age compared to that of Tully ; pro- 
 found erudition in that learning which, 
 in the mediaeval churchman, com- 
 manded the highest admiration. No 
 one was his superior in the science 
 of the canon law ; the Decretals, to 
 which he afterwards gave a more full 
 and authoritative form, were at his 
 command, and they were to him as 
 much the law of God as the Gospels 
 themselves, or the primary principles 
 
294 
 
 Notes 
 
 of morality. The jealous reverence 
 and attachment of a great lawyer to 
 his science strengthened the lofty pre- 
 tensions of the churchman. 
 
 " Frederick the Second, with many 
 of the noblest qualities which could 
 captivate the admiration of his own 
 age, in some respects might appear 
 misplaced, and by many centuries 
 prematurely born. Frederick having 
 crowded into his youth adventures, 
 perils, successes, almost unparalleled in 
 history, was now only expanding into 
 the prime of manhood. A parentless 
 orphan, he had struggled upward into 
 the actual reigning monarch of his 
 hereditary Sicily ; he was even then 
 rising above the yoke of the turbulent 
 magnates of his realm, and the depress- 
 ing tutelage of the Papal See ; he had 
 crossed the Alps a boyish adventurer, 
 and won so much through his own 
 valor and daring that he might well 
 ascribe to himself his conquest, the 
 kingdom of Germany, the imperial 
 crown ; he was in undisputed posses- 
 sion of the Empire, with all its rights 
 in Northern Italy ; King of Apulia, 
 Sicily, and Jerusalem. He was be- 
 ginning to be at once the Magnificent 
 Sovereign, the knight, the poet, the 
 lawgiver, the patron of arts, letters, 
 and science ; the Magnificent Sovereign, 
 now holding his court in one of the 
 old barbaric and feudal cities of Ger- 
 many among the proud and turbulent 
 princes of the Empire, more often on 
 the sunny shores of Naples or Palermo, 
 in southern and almost Oriental luxury; 
 the gallant Knight and troubadour Poet, 
 
 not forbidding himself those amorous 
 indulgences which were the reward of 
 chivalrous valor and of the * gay sci- 
 ence '; the Lawgiver, whose far-seeing 
 wisdom seemed to anticipate some of 
 those views of equal justice, of the ad- 
 vantages of commerce, of the cultiva- 
 tion of the arts of peace, beyond all the 
 toleration of adverse religions, which 
 even in a more dutiful son of the 
 Church would doubtless have seemed 
 godless indifference. Frederick must 
 appear before us in the course of our 
 history in the full development of all 
 these shades of character ; but besides 
 all this, Frederick's views of the tem- 
 poral sovereignty were as imperious and 
 autocratic as those of the haughtiest 
 churchman of the spiritual supremacy. 
 The ban of the Empire ought to be 
 at least equally awful with that of the 
 Church ; disloyalty to the Emperor 
 was as heinous a sin as infidelity to the 
 head of Christendom ; the indepen- 
 dence of the Lombard republics was as 
 a great and punishable political heresy. 
 Even in Rome itself, as head of the 
 Roman Empire, Frederick aspired to 
 a supremacy which was not less un- 
 limited because vague and undefined, 
 and irreconcilable with that of the Su- 
 preme Pontiff". If ever Emperor might 
 be tempted by the vision of a vast 
 hereditary monarchy to be perpetuated 
 in his house, the princely house of 
 Hohenstaufen, it was Frederick. He 
 had heirs of his greatness ; his eldest 
 son was King of the Romans ; from 
 his loins might yet spring an inexhaust- 
 ible race of princes ; the failure of his 
 
Purgatorio xri. 
 
 295 
 
 imperial line was his last fear. The 
 character of the man seemed formed to 
 achieve and to maintain this vast de- 
 sign ; he was at once terrible and pop- 
 ular, courteous, generous, placable to 
 his foes ; yet there was a depth of 
 cruelty in the heart of Frederick to- 
 wards revolted subjects, which made 
 him look on the atrocities of his 
 allies, Eccelin di Romano, and the 
 Salinguerras, but as legitimate means 
 to quell insolent and stubborn rebel- 
 lion 
 
 " It is impossible to conceive a con- 
 trast more strong or more irreconcila- 
 ble than the octogenarian Gregory, in 
 his cloister palace, in his conclave of 
 stern ascetics, with all but severe im- 
 prisonment within conventual walls, 
 completely monastic in manners, hab- 
 its, views, in corporate spirit, in celi- 
 bacy, in rigid seclusion from the rest 
 of mankind, in the conscientious deter- 
 mination to enslave, if possible, all 
 Christendom to its inviolable unity of 
 faith, and to the least possible latitude 
 of discipline ; and the gay and yet 
 youthful Frederick, with his mingled 
 assemblage of knights and ladies, of 
 Christians, Jews, and Mohammedans, 
 of poets and men of science, met, as it 
 were, to enjoy and minister to enjoy- 
 ment, — to cultivate the pure intellect, 
 — where, if not the restraints of relig- 
 ion, at least the awful authority of 
 churchmen was examined with free- 
 dom, sometimes ridiculed with sportive 
 wit." 
 
 See also Inf. X. Note 119. 
 
 124. Currado (Conrad) da Palazzo 
 
 of Brescia ; Gherardo da Camino of 
 Treviso ; and Guido da Castello of 
 Reggio. Of these three the Ottitno 
 thus speaks : — 
 
 " Messer Currado was laden with 
 honor during his life, delighted in a 
 fine retinue, and in political life in the 
 government of cities, in which he ac- 
 quired much praise and fame. 
 
 " Messer Guido was assiduous in 
 honoring men of worth, who passed 
 on their way to France, and furnished 
 many with horses and arms, who came 
 hitherward from France. To all who 
 had honorably consumed their prop- 
 erty, and returned more poorlv fur- 
 nished than became them, he gave, 
 without hope of return, horses, arms, 
 and money. 
 
 " Messer Gherardo da Camino de- 
 lighted not in one, but in all noble 
 things, keeping constantly at home." 
 
 He farther says, that his fame was 
 so great in France that he was there 
 spoken of as the " simple Lombard," 
 just as, " when one says the City, and 
 no more, one means Rome." Benvenu- 
 to da Imola says that all Italians were 
 called Lombards by the French. In 
 the His to ire et Cronique du petit J eh an 
 de Saintre, fol. 219, ch. iv., the author 
 remarks : " The fifteenth day after 
 Saintre's return, there came to Paris 
 two young, noble, and brave Italians, 
 whom we call Lombards." 
 
 132. Deuteronomy xviii. 2: "There- 
 fore shall they have no inheritance 
 among their brethren : the Lord is 
 their inheritance, as he hath said unto 
 them." 
 
296 
 
 Notes 
 
 140. "This Gherardo," says Buti, 
 " had a daughter, called, on account of 
 her beauty, Gaja ; and so modest and 
 virtuous was she, that through all Italy 
 was spread the fame of her beauty and 
 modesty." 
 
 The Ottimo, who preceded Buti in 
 point of time, gives a somewhat dif- 
 
 ferent and more equivocal account. 
 He says : " Madonna Gaia was the 
 daughter of Messer Gherardo da Ca- 
 mino : she was a lady of such conduct 
 in amorous delectations, that her name 
 was notorious throughout all Italy ; 
 and therefore she is thus spoken of 
 here." 
 
 CANTO XVII. 
 
 1. The trance and vision of Dante, 
 and the ascent to the Fourth Circle, 
 where the sin of Sloth is punished. 
 
 2. Iliad, III. 10 : "As the south 
 wind spreads a mist upon the brow of 
 a mountain, by no means agreeable to 
 the shepherd, but to the robber better 
 than night, in which a man sees only 
 as far as he can cast a stone." 
 
 19. In this vision are represented 
 some of the direful effects of anger, be- 
 ginning with the murder of Itys by his 
 mother, Procne, and her sister, Philo- 
 mela. Ovid, VI. : — 
 
 " Now, at her lap arrived, the flattering boy 
 Salutes his parent with a smiling joy; 
 About her neck his little arms are thrown, 
 And he accosts her in a prattling tone. 
 
 When Procne, on revengeful mischief bent, 
 Home to his heart a piercing poniard sent. 
 Itys, with rueful cries, but all too late, 
 Holds out his hands, and deprecates his fate; 
 Still at his mother's neck he fondly aims, 
 And strives to melt her with endearing names; 
 Yet still the cruel mother perseveres, 
 Nor with concern his bitter anguish hears. 
 This might suffice ; but Philomela too 
 Across his throat a shining cutlass drew." 
 
 Or perhaps the reference is to the 
 Homeric legend of Philomela, Odyssey, 
 XIX. 518: "As when the daughter 
 of Pandarus, the swarthy nightingale, 
 sings beautifully when the spring new- 
 ly begins, sitting in the thick branches 
 of trees, and she, frequently changing, 
 pours forth her much-sounding voice, 
 lamenting her dear Itylus, whom once 
 she slew with the brass through igno- 
 rance." 
 
 25. Esther vii. 9, 10: "And Har- 
 bonah, one of the chamberlains, said 
 before the king, Behold also, the gal- 
 lows, fifty cubits high, which Haman 
 had made for Mordecai, who had spo- 
 ken good for the king, standeth in the 
 house of Haman. Then the king 
 said, Hang him thereon. So they 
 hanged Haman on the gallows that he 
 had prepared for Mordecai. Then 
 was the king's wrath pacified." 
 
 34. Lavinia, daughter of King Lati- 
 nus and Queen Amata,' betrothed to 
 Turnus. Amata, thinking Turnus dead, 
 hanged herself in anger and despair. 
 jEneid, XII. 875, Dryden's Tr. : — 
 
Purgatorio xvm. 
 
 297 
 
 " Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear 
 The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air. 
 She calls herself the cause of all this ill, 
 And owns the dire effects of her ungoverned 
 
 will; 
 She raves against the gods, she beats her 
 
 breast, 
 She tears with both her hands her purple 
 
 vest ; 
 Then round a beam a running noose she tied, 
 And, fastened by the neck, obscenely died. 
 
 " Soon as the fatal news by fame was blown, 
 And to her dames and to her daughters known, 
 The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair 
 And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share; 
 With shrieks the palace rings, and madness 
 
 of despair." 
 
 53. See Par. V. 134: — 
 
 " Even as the sun, that doth conceal himself 
 By too much light." 
 
 And Milton, Parad. Lost, III. 380: — 
 
 " Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear." 
 
 68. Matthew v. 9 : " Blessed are 
 the peacemakers : for they shall be 
 called the children of God." 
 
 85. Sloth. See Inf. VII. Note 115. 
 And Brunetto Latini, Tesoretto, XXI. 
 
 145: — 
 
 " In ira nasce e posa 
 Accidia niquitosa." 
 
 97. The first, the object ; the sec- 
 ond, too much or too little vigor. 
 
 124. The sins of Pride, Envy, and 
 Anger. The other is Sloth, or luke- 
 warmness in well-doing, punished in 
 this circle. 
 
 136. The sins of Avarice, Gluttony, 
 and Lust. 
 
 CANTO XVIII. 
 
 1. The punishment of the sin of 
 Sloth. 
 
 27. Bound or taken captive by the 
 image of pleasure presented to it. See 
 Canto XVII. 91. 
 
 22. Milton, Parad. Lost,Y. 100: — 
 " But know that in the soul 
 Are many lesser faculties, that serve 
 Reason as chief; among these Fancy next 
 Her office holds; of all external things, 
 Which the five watchful senses represent, 
 She forms imaginations, aery shapes, 
 Which Reason joining or disjoining frames 
 All what we affirm or what deny, and call 
 Our knowledge or opinion ; then retires 
 Into her private cell, when Nature rests." 
 
 30. The region of Fire. Brunetto 
 
 VOL. II. 38 
 
 Latini, Tresor, Ch. CVIII.: "After the 
 zone of the air is placed the fourth 
 element. This is an orb of fire with- 
 out any moisture, which extends as far 
 as the moon, and surrounds this atmos- 
 phere in which we are. And know 
 that above the fire is first the moon, 
 and the other stars, which are all of 
 the nature of fire." 
 
 44. If the soul follows the appetitus 
 naturalisy or goes not with another foot 
 than that of nature. 
 
 49. In the language of the Scholas- 
 tics, Form was the passing from the 
 potential to the actual. "Whatever is 
 Act*" says Thomas Aquinas, Summa 
 
298 
 
 Notes 
 
 Theol.y Qujest. lxvi. Art. 1, "what- 
 ever is Act is Form ; quod est actus est 
 forma" And again Form was divided 
 into Substantial Form, which caused a 
 thing to be ; and Accidental Form, 
 which caused it to be in a certain way, 
 " as heat makes its subject not simply 
 to be, but to be hot." 
 
 " The soul," says the same Angelic 
 Doctor, Quaest. lxxvi. Art. 4, " is 
 the substantial form of man ; anima est 
 forma substantialis bominis." It is seg- 
 regate or distinct from matter, though 
 united with it. 
 
 61. "This" refers to the power 
 that counsels, or the faculty of Rea- 
 son. 
 
 66. Accepts, or rejects like chaff. 
 
 73. Dante makes Beatrice say, Par. 
 V. 19: — 
 
 " The greatest gift that in his largess God 
 
 Creating made, and unto his own goodness 
 Nearest conformed, and that which he doth 
 prize 
 Most highly, is the freedom of the will, 
 Wherewith the creatures of intelligence 
 Both all and only were and are endowed." 
 
 76. Near midnight of the Second 
 Day of Purgatory. 
 
 80. The moon was rising in the 
 sign of the Scorpion, it being now five 
 days after the full ; and when the sun 
 is in this sign, it is seen by the in- 
 habitants of Rome to set between the 
 islands of Corsica and Sardinia. 
 
 83. Virgil, born at Pietola, near 
 Mantua. 
 
 84. The burden of Dante's doubts 
 and questions, laid upon Virgil. 
 
 91. Rivers of Bceotia, on whose 
 
 banks the Thebans crowded at night 
 to invoke the aid of Bacchus to give 
 them rain for their vineyards. 
 
 94. The word fa/care, in French 
 faucher, here translated " curve," is a 
 term of equitation, describing the mo- 
 tion of the outer fore-leg of a horse in 
 going round in a circle. It is the 
 sweep of a mower's scythe. 
 
 100. Luke i. 39: " And Mary arose 
 in those days and went into the hill- 
 country with haste." 
 
 10 1. Caesar on his way to subdue 
 Uerda, now Lerida, in Spain, besieged 
 Marseilles, leaving there part of his 
 army under Brutus to complete the 
 work. 
 
 118. Nothing is known of this Ab- 
 bot, not even his name. Finding him 
 here, the commentators make bold to 
 say that he was " slothful and deficient 
 in good deeds." This is like some of 
 the definitions in the Crusca, which, 
 instead of the interpretation of a Dan- 
 tesque word, give you back the passage 
 in which it occurs. 
 
 119. This is the famous Emperor 
 Frederick Barbarossa, who, according 
 to the German popular tradition, is 
 still sitting in a cave in the Kipphaiiser 
 mountains, waiting for something to 
 happen, while his beard has grown 
 through the stone-table before him. 
 In 1 162 he burned and devastated Mi- 
 lan, Brescia, Piacenza, and Cremona. 
 He was drowned in the Salef in Ar- 
 menia, on his crusade in 1190, en- 
 deavoring to ford the river on horse- 
 back in his impatience to cross. His 
 character is thus drawn by Milman, 
 
Purgatorio xix. 
 
 299 
 
 Lat. Christ., Book VIII. Ch. 7, and 
 
 sufficiently explains why Dante calls 
 him " the good Barbarossa " : — 
 
 " Frederick was a prince of intrepid 
 valor, consummate prudence, unmeas- 
 ured ambition, justice which hardened 
 into severity, the ferocity of a barba- 
 rian somewhat tempered with a high 
 chivalrous gallantry ; above all, with a 
 strength of character which subjugated 
 alike the great temporal and ecclesiasti- 
 cal princes of Germany ; and was pre- 
 pared to assert the Imperial rights in 
 Italy to the utmost. Of the constitu- 
 tional rights of the Emperor, of his 
 unlimited supremacy, his absolute in- 
 dependence of, his temporal superiority 
 over, all other powers, even that of the 
 Pope, Frederick proclaimed the loftiest 
 notions. He was to the Empire what 
 Hildebrand and Innocent were to the 
 Popedom. His power was of God 
 alone; to assert that it was bestowed 
 by the successor of St. Peter was a lie, 
 and directly contrary to the doctrine of 
 St. Peter." 
 
 121. Alberto della Scala, Lord of 
 Verona. He made his natural s'on, 
 whose qualifications for the office 
 Dante here enumerates, and the com- 
 mentators repeat, Abbot of the Mo- 
 nastery of San Zeno. 
 
 132. See Inf. VII. Note 115. 
 
 135. Numbers xxxii. 11, 12: ''Sure- 
 ly none of the men that came out of 
 Egypt, from twenty years old and up- 
 ward, shall see the land which I sware 
 unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto 
 Jacob ; because they have not wholly 
 followed me : save Caleb the son of 
 Jephunneh the Kenezite, and Joshua 
 the son of Nun ; for they have wholly 
 followed the Lord." 
 
 137. The Trojans who remained 
 with Acestes in Sicily, instead of fol- 
 lowing iEneas to Italy. JEneid, V. : 
 " They enroll the matrons for the 
 city, and set on shore as many of the 
 people as were willing, — souls that 
 had no desire of high renown." 
 
 145. The end of the Second Day. 
 
 CANTO XIX. 
 
 1. The ascent to the Fifth Circle, 
 where Avarice is punished. It is the 
 dawn of the Third Day. 
 
 3. Brunetto Latini, Tresor, Ch. CXI. 
 " Saturn, who is sovereign over all, is 
 cruel and malign and of a cold na- 
 ture." 
 
 4. Geomancy is divination by points 
 in the ground, or pebbles arranged in 
 
 certain figures, which have peculiar 
 names. Among these is the figure 
 called the Fortuna Major, which is thus 
 
 drawn : — 
 
 * * 
 
 * * 
 
 * * 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 and which by an effort of imagination 
 
300 
 
 Notes 
 
 can also be formed out of some of the 
 last stars of Aquarius, and some of the 
 first of Pisces. 
 
 Chaucer, Trot/, and Cres., III. 
 1415: — 
 
 " But whan the cocke, commune astrologer, 
 Gan on his brest to bete and after crowe, 
 And Lucifer, the dayes messanger, 
 Gan for to rise and out his bemes throwe, 
 And estward rose, to him that could it knowe, 
 Fortuna Major." 
 
 6. Because the sun is following close 
 behind. 
 
 7. This " stammering woman " of 
 Dante's dream is Sensual Pleasure, 
 which the imagination of the beholder 
 adorns with a thousand charms. The 
 " lady saintly and alert " is Reason, 
 the same that tied Ulysses to the mast, 
 and stopped the ears of his sailors with 
 wax that they might not hear the song 
 of the Sirens. 
 
 Gower, Conf. Amant., I. : — 
 
 " Of such nature 
 They ben, that with so swete a Steven 
 Like to the melodie of heven 
 In womannishe vois they singe 
 With notes of so great likinge, 
 Of suche mesure, of suche musike, 
 Wherof the shippes they beswike 
 That passen by the costes there. 
 For whan the shipmen lay an ere 
 Unto the vois, in here airs 
 They wene it be a paradis, 
 Which after is to hem an helle." 
 
 51. "That is," says Buti, "they 
 shall have the gift of comforting their 
 souls." 
 
 Matthew v. 4 : " Blessed are they 
 that mourn : for they shall be com- 
 forted." 
 
 59. The three remaining sins to be 
 purged away are Avarice, Gluttony, 
 and Lust. 
 
 61. See Canto XIV. 148. 
 
 73. Psalms cxix. 25 : " My soul 
 cleaveth unto the dust : quicken thou 
 me according to thy word." 
 
 99. Know that I am the successor 
 of Peter. It is Pope Adrian the Fifth 
 who speaks. He was of the family of 
 the Counts of Lavagna, the family tak- 
 ing its title from the river Lavagna, 
 flowing between Siestri and Chiaveri, 
 towns on the Riviera di Genova. He 
 was Pope only thirty-nine days, and 
 died in 1276. When his kindred came 
 to congratulate him on his election, he 
 said, " Would that ye came to a Car- 
 dinal in good health, and not to a dying 
 Pope." 
 
 134. Revelation xix. to: "And I fell 
 at his feet to worship him. And he 
 said unto me, See thou do it not, I am 
 thy fellow-servant." 
 
 137. Matthew xxii. 30: " For in 
 the resurrection they neither marry, 
 nor are given in marriage, but are as 
 the angels in heaven." He reminds 
 Dante that here all earthly distinc- 
 tions and relations are laid aside. 
 He is no longer "the Spouse of the 
 Church." 
 
 141. Penitence; line 92 : — 
 
 " In whom weeping ripens 
 That without which to God we cannot turn." 
 
 142. Madonna Alagia was the wife 
 of Marcello Malespini, that friend of 
 Dante with whom, during his wan- 
 derings he took refuge in the Luni- 
 giana, in 1307. 
 
Purgatorio xx. 
 
 ,01 
 
 CANTO XX. 
 
 1. In this canto the subject of the 
 preceding is continued, namely, the 
 punishment of Avarice and Prodigality. 
 
 2. To please the speaker, Pope 
 Adrian the Fifth, (who, Canto XIX. 
 139, says, 
 
 " Now go, no longer will I have thee linger,") 
 
 Dante departs without further question, 
 though not yet satisfied. 
 
 13. See the article Cabala at the end 
 of Vol. III. 
 
 15. This is generally supposed to 
 refer to Can Grande della Scala. See 
 Inf. I. Note 101. 
 
 23. The inn at Bethlehem. 
 
 25. The Roman Consul who re- 
 jected with disdain the bribes of Pyr- 
 rhus, and died so poor that he was 
 buried at the public expense, and the 
 Romans were obliged to give a dowry 
 to his daughters. Virgil, AZneid, VI. 
 844, calls him " powerful in poverty." 
 Dante also extols him in the Convito, 
 IV. 5. 
 
 3 1 . Gower, Conf. Amant., V. 13: — 
 
 " Betwene the two extremites 
 Of vice stont the propertes 
 Of vertue, and to prove it so 
 Take avarice and take also 
 The vice of prodegalite, 
 Betwene hem liberalite, 
 Which is the vertue of largesse 
 Stant and governeth his noblesse." 
 
 32. This is St. Nicholas, patron 
 saint of children, sailors, and travellers. 
 The incident here alluded to is found 
 in the Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de 
 
 Voragine, the great storehouse of me- 
 diaeval wonders. 
 
 It may be found also in Mrs. Jame- 
 son's Sacred and Legendary Art, II. 62, 
 and in her version runs thus : — 
 
 " Now in that city there dwelt 
 a certain nobleman who had three 
 daughters, and, from being rich, he 
 became poor ; so poor that there 
 remained no means of obtaining food 
 for his daughters but by sacrificing 
 them to an infamous life ; and often- 
 times it came into his mind to tell 
 them so, but shame and sorrow held 
 him dumb. Meantime the maidens 
 wept continually, not knowing what 
 to do, and not having bread to eat ; 
 and their father became more and 
 more desperate. When Nicholas heard 
 of this, he thought it a shame that such 
 a thing should happen in a Christian 
 land ; therefore one night, when the 
 maidens were asleep, and their father 
 alone sat watching and weeping, he 
 took a handful of gold, and, tying it 
 up in a handkerchief, he repaired to 
 the dwelling of the poor man. He 
 considered how he might bestow it 
 without making himself known, and, 
 while he stood irresolute, the moon 
 coming from behind a cloud showed 
 him a window open ; so he threw it 
 in, and it fell at the feet of the fa- 
 ther, who, when he found it, re- 
 turned thanks, and with it he portioned 
 his eldest daughter. A second time 
 Nicholas provided a similar sum, and 
 
302 
 
 Notes 
 
 again he threw it in by night ; and 
 with it the nobleman married his sec- 
 ond daughter. But he greatly desired 
 to know who it was that came to his 
 aid; therefore he determined to watch, 
 and when the good saint came for the 
 third time, and prepared to throw in 
 the third portion, he was discovered, 
 for the nobleman seized him by the 
 skirt of his robe, and flung himself at 
 his feet, saying, * O Nicholas ! servant 
 of God ! why seek to hide thyself? ' 
 and he kissed his feet and his hands. 
 But Nicholas made him promise that 
 he would tell no man. And many 
 other charitable works did Nicholas 
 perform in his native city." 
 
 43. If we knew from what old 
 chronicle, or from what Professor of 
 the Rue du Fouarre, Dante derived 
 his knowledge of French history, we 
 might possibly make plain the rather 
 difficult passage which begins with this 
 line. The spirit that speaks is not 
 that of the King Hugh Capet, but that 
 of his father, Hugh Capet, Duke of 
 France and Count of Paris. He was 
 son of Robert the Strong. Pasquier, 
 Recb. de la France, VI. 1, describes 
 him as both valiant and prudent, and 
 says that, " although he was never 
 king, yet was he a maker and unmaker 
 of kings," and then goes on to draw 
 an elaborate parallel between him and 
 Charles Martel. 
 
 The "malignant plant" is Philip 
 the Fair, whose character is thus 
 drawn by Milman, Lat. Christ., Book 
 XL Ch. 8: — 
 
 " In Philip the Fair the gallantry 
 
 of the French temperament broke out 
 on rare occasions ; his first Flemish 
 campaigns were conducted with brav- 
 ery and skill, but Philip ever preferred 
 the subtle negotiation, the slow and 
 wily encroachment ; till his enemies 
 were, if not in his power, at least at 
 great disadvantage, he did not venture 
 on the usurpation or invasion. In the 
 slow systematic pursuit of his object he 
 was utterly without scruple, without 
 remorse. He was not so much cruel 
 as altogether obtuse to human suffer- 
 ing, if necessary to the prosecution of 
 his schemes; not so much rapacious as, 
 finding money indispensable to his ag- 
 grandizement, seeking money by means 
 of which he hardly seemed to discern 
 the injustice or the folly. Never was 
 man or monarch so intensely selfish as 
 Philip the Fair : his own power was 
 his ultimate scope ; he extended so 
 enormously the royal prerogative, the 
 influence of France, because he was 
 King of France. His rapacity, which 
 persecuted the Templars, his vindic- 
 tiveness, which warred on Boniface af- 
 ter death as through life, was this self- 
 ishness in other forms." 
 
 He was defeated at the battle of 
 Courtray, 1302, known in history as 
 the battle of the Spurs of Gold, from 
 the great number found on the field 
 after the battle. This is the vengeance 
 imprecated upon him by Dante. 
 
 50. For two centuries and a half, 
 that is, from 1060 to 13 16, there was 
 either a Louis or a Philip on the 
 throne of France. The succession was 
 as follows : — 
 
Purgatorio xx. 
 
 303 
 
 Philip I. the Amorous, 1060. 
 
 Louis VI. the Fat, 1108. 
 
 Louis VII. the Young, U37- 
 
 Philip II. Augustus, 11 80. 
 
 Louis VIII. the Lion, 1223. 
 
 Louis IX. the Saint, 1226. 
 
 Philip III. the Bold, 1270. 
 
 Philip IV. the Fair, 1285. 
 
 Louis X., I 3 I 4* 
 
 52. It is doubtful whether this pas- 
 sage is to be taken literally or figura- 
 tively. Pasquier, Rech. de la France, 
 Liv. VI. Ch. I (thinking it is the 
 King Hugh Capet that speaks), breaks 
 forth in indignant protest as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " From this you can perceive the 
 fatality there was in this family from 
 its beginning to its end, to the disad- 
 vantage of the Carlovingians. And 
 moreover, how ignorant the Italian 
 poet Dante was, when in his book 
 entitled Purgatory he says that our 
 Hugh Capet was the son of a butcher. 
 Which word, once written erroneously 
 and carelessly by him, has so crept 
 into the heads of some simpletons, 
 that many who never investigated the 
 antiquities of our France have fallen 
 into this same heresy. Francois de 
 Villon, more studious of taverns and 
 ale-houses than of good books, says in 
 some part of his works, 
 
 ' Si feusse les hoirs de Capet 
 Qui fut extrait de boucherie." 
 
 And since then Agrippa Alamanni, in 
 his book on the Vanity of Science, 
 chapter Of Nobility, on this first igno- 
 rance declares impudently against the 
 genealogy of our Capet. If Dante 
 
 thought that Hugh the Great, Capet's 
 father, was a butcher, he was not a 
 clever man. But if he used this ex- 
 pression figuratively, as I am willing 
 to believe, those who cling to the 
 shell of the word are greater block- 
 heads still 
 
 " This passage of Dante being read 
 and explained by Luigi Alamanni, an 
 Italian, before Francis the First of that 
 name, he was indignant at the impos- 
 ture, and commanded it to be stricken 
 out. He was even excited to inter- 
 dict the reading of the book in his 
 kingdom. But for my part, in order 
 to exculpate this author, I wish to say 
 that under the name of Butcher he 
 meant that Capet was son of a great and 
 valiant warrior If Dante under- 
 stood it thus, I forgive him ; if other- 
 wise, he was a very ignorant poet." 
 
 Benvenuto says that the name of 
 Capet comes from the fact that Hugh, 
 in playing with his companions in boy- 
 hood, " was in the habit of pulling 
 off their caps and running away with 
 them." Ducange repeats this story 
 from an old chronicle, and gives also 
 another and more probable origin of 
 the name, as coming from the hood or 
 cowl which Hugh was in the habit of 
 wearing. 
 
 The belief that the family descended 
 from a butcher was current in Italy in 
 Dante's time. Villani, IV. 3, says : 
 " Most people say that the father was 
 a great and rich burgher of Paris, of a 
 race of butchers or dealers in cattle." 
 
 53. When the Carlovingian race 
 were all dead but one. And who was 
 
304 
 
 Notes 
 
 he ? The Ottimo says it was Rudolph, 
 who became a monk and afterwards 
 Archbishop of Rheims. Benvenuto 
 gives no name, but says only " a monk 
 in poor, coarse garments." Buti says 
 the same. Daniello thinks it was some 
 Friar of St. Francis, perhaps St. Louis, 
 forgetting that these saints did not see 
 the light till some two centuries after 
 the time here spoken of. Others say 
 Charles of Lorraine ; and Biagioli de- 
 cides that it must be either Charles the 
 Simple, who died a prisoner in the 
 castle of Peronne, in 922 ; or Louis of 
 Outre-Mer, who was carried to England 
 by Hugh the Great, in 936. The Man 
 in Cloth of Gray remains as great a 
 mystery as the Man in the Iron Mask. 
 
 59. Hugh Capet was crowned at 
 Rheims, in 987. The expression 
 which follows shows clearly that it is 
 Hugh the Great who speaks, and not 
 Hugh the founder of the Capetian dy- 
 nasty. 
 
 61. Until the shame of the low ori- 
 gin of the family was removed by the 
 marriage of Charles of Anjou, brother 
 of Saint Louis, to the daughter of Rai- 
 mond Berenger, who brought him Pro- 
 vence as her dower. 
 
 65. Making amends for one crime 
 by committing a greater. The partic- 
 ular transaction here alluded to is the 
 seizing by fraud and holding by force 
 these provinces in the time of Philip 
 the Fair. 
 
 67. Charles of Anjou. 
 
 68. Curradino, or Conradin, son of 
 the Emperor Conrad IV., a beautiful 
 youth of sixteen, who was beheaded 
 
 in the square of Naples by order of 
 Charles of Anjou, in 1268. Voltaire, 
 in his rhymed chronology at the end 
 of his Annales de /' 'Empire, says, 
 
 " C'est en soixante-huit que la main d'un 
 bourreau 
 Dans Conradin son fils eteint un sang si 
 beau." 
 
 Endeavoring to escape to Sicily after 
 his defeat at Tagliacozzo, he was car- 
 ried to Naples and imprisoned in the 
 Castel dell' Uovo. " Christendom 
 heard with horror," says Milman, Lat. 
 Christ., Book XL Ch. 3, "that the royal 
 brother of St. Louis, that the cham- 
 pion of the Church, after a mock trial, 
 by the sentence of one judge, Robert 
 di Lavena, — after an unanswerable 
 pleading by Guido de Suzaria, a fa- 
 mous jurist, — had condemned the last 
 heir of the Swabian house — a rival 
 king who had fought gallantly for his 
 hereditary throne — to be executed as 
 a felon and a rebel on a public scaffold. 
 So little did Conradin dread his fate, 
 that, when his doom was announced, 
 he was playing at chess with Frederick 
 of Austria. ' Slave,' said Conradin to 
 Robert of Bari, who read the fatal sen- 
 tence, ' do you dare to condemn as a 
 criminal the son and heir of kings ? 
 Knows not your master that he is my 
 equal, not my judge ? ' He added, ' I 
 am a mortal, and must die; yet ask the 
 kings of the earth if a prince be crimi- 
 nal for seeking to win back the heritage 
 of his ancestors. But if there be no 
 pardon for me, spare, at least, my faith- 
 ful companions ; or if they must die, 
 strike me first, that I may not behold 
 
Purgatorio xx. 
 
 305 
 
 their death.' They died devoutly, 
 nobly. Every circumstance aggravated 
 the abhorrence ; it was said — perhaps 
 it was the invention of that abhorrence 
 — that Robert of Flanders, the brother 
 of Charles, struck dead the judge who 
 had presumed to read the iniquitous 
 sentence. When Conradin knelt, with 
 uplifted hands, awaiting the blow of 
 the executioner, he uttered these last 
 words, ' O my mother ! how deep 
 will be thy sorrow at the news of this 
 day ! ' Even the followers of Charles 
 could hardly restrain their pity and in- 
 dignation. With Conradin died his 
 young and valiant friend, Frederick of 
 Austria, the two Lancias, two of the 
 noble house of Donaticcio of Pisa. 
 The inexorable Charles would not per- 
 mit them to be buried in consecrated 
 ground." 
 
 69. Thomas Aquinas, the Angelic 
 Doctor of the Schools, died at the con- 
 vent of Fossa Nuova in the Campagna, 
 being on his way to the Council of 
 Lyons, in 1274. He is supposed to 
 have been poisoned by his physician, 
 at the instigation of Charles of Anjou. 
 
 71. Charles of Valois, who came 
 into Italy by invitation of Boniface the 
 Eighth, in 1301. See Inf.Vl. 69. 
 
 74. There is in old French litera- 
 ture a poem entitled Le Tournoyement 
 de V Antechrist, written by Hugues de 
 Mery, a monk of the Abbey of St. 
 Germain -des-Pres, in the thirteenth 
 century, in which he describes a battle 
 between the Virtues under the banner 
 of Christ, and the Vices under that of 
 Antichrist. 
 
 VOL. II. 39 
 
 In the Vision of Piers Ploughman, 
 there is a joust between Christ and the 
 foul fiend : — 
 
 " Thanne was Feith in a fenestre, 
 And cryde a Jili David, 
 As dooth an heraud of armes, 
 Whan aventrous cometh to justes. 
 Old Jewes of Jerusalem 
 For joye thei songen, 
 Benedictus qui -venit in nomine Domini. 
 
 " Thanne I frayned at Feith, 
 What al that fare by-mente, 
 And who sholde juste in Jerusalem. 
 1 Jhesus,' he seide, 
 
 1 And fecche that the fend claymeth, 
 Piers fruyt the Plowman.' 
 
 " ' Who shal juste with Jhesus ? ' quod I, 
 ' Jewes or scrybes ? ' 
 
 " ' Nay,' quod he 5 ' The foule fend, 
 And fals doom and deeth.' " 
 
 75. By the aid of Charles of Valois 
 the Neri party triumphed in Florence, 
 and the Bianchi were banished, and 
 with them Dante. 
 
 76. There is an allusion here to the 
 nickname of Charles of Valois, Senza- 
 terra, or Lackland. 
 
 79. Charles the Second, son of 
 Charles of Anjou. He went from 
 France to recover Sicily after the Si- 
 cilian Vespers. In an engagement with 
 the Spanish fleet under Admiral Ru- 
 gieri d' Oria, he was taken prisoner. 
 Dante says he sold his daughter, be- 
 cause he married her for a large sum 
 of money to Azzo the Sixth of Este. 
 
 82. jEneid, III. 56. " Cursed thirst 
 of gold, to what dost thou not drive 
 the hearts of men." 
 
 86. The flower-de-luce is in the 
 banner of France. Borel, Tresor de 
 
306 
 
 Notes 
 
 Recbercbes, cited by Roquefort, Glos- 
 saire, under the word Leye, says : " The 
 oriflamme is so called from gold and 
 flame ; that is to say, a lily of the 
 marshes. The lilies are the arms of 
 France in a field of azure, which de- 
 notes water, in memory that they (the 
 French) came from a marshy country. 
 It is the most ancient and principal 
 banner of France, sown with these 
 lilies, and was borne around our kings 
 on great occasions." 
 
 Roquefort gives his own opinion 
 as follows : " The Franks, afterwards 
 called French, inhabited (before enter- 
 ing Gaul properly so called) the en- 
 virons of the Lys, a river of the Low 
 Countries, whose banks are still covered 
 with a kind of iris or flag of a yellow 
 color, which differs from the common 
 lily and more nearly resembles the 
 flower-de-luce of our arms. Now it 
 seems to me very natural that the kings 
 of the Franks, having to choose a sym- 
 bol to which the name of armorial 
 bearings has since been given, should 
 take in its composition a beautiful and 
 remarkable flower, which they had 
 before their eyes, and that they should 
 name it, from the place where it grew 
 in abundance, Jlower of tbe river Lys." 
 
 These are the lilies of which Dray- 
 ton speaks in his Ballad of Agincourt: — 
 
 " when our grandsire great, 
 
 Claiming the regal seat, 
 By many a warlike feat 
 Lopped the French lilies." 
 
 87. This passage alludes to the seiz- 
 ure and imprisonment of Pope Boniface 
 the Eighth by the troops of Philip the 
 
 Fair at Alagna or Anagni, in 1303. 
 Milman, Lat. Christ., Book XI. Ch. 9, 
 thus describes the event : — 
 
 " On a sudden, on the 7th Septem- 
 ber (the 8th was the day for the publi- 
 cation of the Bull), the peaceful streets 
 of Anagni were disturbed. The Pope 
 and the Cardinals, who were all assem- 
 bled around him, were startled with 
 the trampling of armed horse, and the 
 terrible cry, which ran like wildfire 
 through the city, 'Death to Pope Boni- 
 face ! Long live the King of France!' 
 Sciarra Colonna, at the head of three 
 hundred horsemen, the Barons of Cer- 
 cano and Supino, and some others, the 
 sons of Master Massio of Anagni, were 
 marching in furious haste, with the 
 banner of the king of France displayed. 
 The ungrateful citizens of Anagni, for- 
 getful of their pride in their holy com- 
 patriot, of the honor and advantage to 
 their town from the splendor and wealth 
 of the Papal residence, received them 
 with rebellious and acclaiming shouts. 
 
 " The bell of the city, indeed, had 
 tolled at the first alarm ; the burghers 
 had assembled ; they had chosen their 
 commander ; but that commander, 
 whom they ignorantly or treacherously 
 chose, was Arnulf, a deadly enemy of 
 the Pope. The banner of the Church 
 was unfolded against the Pope by the 
 captain of the people of Anagni. The 
 first attack was on the palace of the 
 Pope, on that of the Marquis Gaetani, 
 his nephew, and those of three Cardi- 
 nals, the special partisans of Boniface. 
 The houses of the Pope and of his 
 nephew made some resistance. The 
 
Purgatorio xx. 
 
 307 
 
 doors of those of the Cardinals were 
 beaten down, the treasures ransacked 
 and carried off; the Cardinals them- 
 selves fled from the backs of the houses 
 through the common sewer. Then 
 arrived, but not to the rescue, Arnulf, 
 the Captain of the People ; he had 
 perhaps been suborned by Reginald of 
 Supino. With him were the sons of 
 Chiton, whose father was pining in 
 the dungeons ot Boniface. Instead of 
 resisting, they joined the attack on the 
 palace of the Pope's nephew and his 
 own. The Pope and his nephew im- 
 plored a truce ; it was granted for 
 eight hours. This time the Pope em- 
 ployed in endeavoring to stir up the 
 people to his defence ; the people 
 coldly answered, that they were under 
 the command of their Captain. The 
 Pope demanded the terms of the con- 
 spirators. ' If the Pope would save 
 his life, let him instantly restore the 
 Colonna Cardinals to their dignity, 
 and reinstate the whole house in their 
 honors and possessions ; after this 
 restoration the Pope must abdicate, 
 and leave his body at the disposal of 
 Sciarra.' The Pope groaned in the 
 depths of his heart. » The word is 
 spoken.' Again the assailants thun- 
 dered at the gates of the palace ; still 
 there was obstinate resistance. The 
 principal church of Anagni, that of 
 Santa Maria, protected the Pope's pal- 
 ace. Sciarra Colonna's lawless band 
 set fire to the gates ; the church was 
 crowded with clergy and laity and 
 traders who had brought their pre- 
 cious wares into the sacred building. 
 
 They were plundered with such ra- 
 pacity that not a man escaped with a 
 farthing. 
 
 " The Marquis found himself com- 
 pelled to surrender, on the condition 
 that his own life, that of his family 
 and of his servants, should be spared. 
 At these sad tidings the Pope wept 
 bitterly. The Pope was alone ; from 
 the first the Cardinals, some from 
 treachery, some from cowardice, had 
 fled on all sides, even his most familiar 
 friends : they had crept into the most 
 ignoble hiding-places. The aged Pon- 
 tiff" alone lost not his self-command. 
 He had declared himself ready to per- 
 ish in his glorious cause ; he deter- 
 mined to fall with dignity. ' If I am 
 betrayed like Christ, I am ready to die 
 like Christ.' He put on the stole of 
 St. Peter, the imperial crown was on 
 his head, the keys of St. Peter in one 
 hand and the cross in the other : he 
 took his seat on the Papal throne, and, 
 like the Roman Senators of old, await- 
 ed the approach of the Gaul. 
 
 " But the pride and cruelty of Boni- 
 face had raised and infixed deep in the 
 hearts of men passions which acknowl- 
 edged no awe of age, of intrepidity, or 
 religious majesty. In William of No- 
 garet the blood ot his Tolosan ances- 
 tors, in Colonna, the wrongs, the deg- 
 radation, the beggary, the exile of all 
 his house, had extinguished every feel- 
 ing but revenge. They insulted him 
 with contumelious reproaches ; they 
 menaced his life. The Pope answered 
 not a word. They insisted that he 
 should at once abdicate the Papacy. 
 
3 o8 
 
 Notes 
 
 1 Behold my neck, behold my head,' 
 was the only reply. But fiercer words 
 passed between the Pope and William 
 of Nogaret. Nogaret threatened to 
 drag him before the Council of Lyons, 
 where he should be deposed from the 
 Papacy. ' Shall I suffer myself to be 
 degraded and deposed by Paterins like 
 thee, whose fathers were righteously 
 burned as Paterins ? ' William turned 
 fiery red, with shame thought the par- 
 tisans of Boniface, more likely with 
 wrath. Sciarra, it was said, would 
 have slain him outright ; he was pre- 
 vented by some of his own followers, 
 even by Nogaret. ' Wretched Pope, 
 even at this distance the goodness of 
 my Lord the King guards thy life.' 
 
 " He was placed under close cus- 
 tody, not one of his own attendants 
 permitted to approach him. Worse 
 indignities awaited him. He was set 
 on a vicious horse, with his face to the 
 tail, and so led through the town to 
 his place of imprisonment. The pal- 
 aces of the Pope and of his nephew 
 were plundered ; so vast was the 
 wealth, that the annual revenues of 
 all the kings in the world would not 
 have been equal to the treasures found 
 and carried off by Sciarra's freeboot- 
 ing soldiers. His very private cham- 
 ber was ransacked ; nothing left but 
 bare walls. 
 
 " At length the people of Anagni 
 could no longer bear the insult and the 
 sufferings heaped upon their illustrious 
 and holy fellow-citizen. They rose 
 in irresistible insurrection, drove out 
 the soldiers by whom they had been 
 
 overawed, now gorged with plunder, 
 and doubtless not unwilling to with- 
 draw. The Pope was rescued, and 
 led out into the street, where the old 
 man addressed a few words to the peo- 
 ple : ' Good men and women, ye see 
 how mine enemies have come upon 
 me, and plundered my goods, those of 
 the Church and of the poor. Not a 
 morsel of bread have I eaten, not a 
 drop have I drunk, since my capture. 
 I am almost dead with hunger. If 
 any good woman will give me a piece 
 of bread and a cup of wine, if she has 
 no wine, a little water, I will absolve 
 her, and any one who will give me 
 their alms, from all their sins.' The 
 compassionate rabble burst into a cry, 
 ' Long life to the Pope ! ' They car- 
 ried him back to his naked palace. 
 They crowded, the women especially, 
 with provisions, bread, meat, water, 
 and wine. They could not find a sin- 
 gle vessel : they poured a supply of 
 water into a chest. The Pope pro- 
 claimed a general absolution to all 
 except the plunderers of his palace. 
 He even declared that he wished to be 
 at peace with the Colonnas and all his 
 enemies. This perhaps was to disguise 
 his intention of retiring, as soon as he 
 could, to Rome. 
 
 " The Romans had heard with in- 
 dignation the sacrilegious attack on the 
 person of the Supreme Pontiff. Four 
 hundred horse under Matteo and Gae- 
 tano Orsini were sent to conduct him 
 to the city. He entered it almost in 
 triumph ; the populace welcomed him 
 with every demonstration of joy. But 
 
Purgatorio xx. 
 
 309 
 
 the awe of his greatness was gone ; the 
 spell of his dominion over the minds 
 of men was broken. His overweening 
 haughtiness and domination had made 
 him many enemies in the Sacred Col- 
 lege, the gold of France had made him 
 more. This general revolt is his se- 
 verest condemnation. Among his first 
 enemies was the Cardinal Napoleon 
 Orsini. Orsini had followed the tri- 
 umphal entrance of the Pope. Boni- 
 face, to show that he desired to recon- 
 cile himself with all, courteously in- 
 vited him to his table. The Orsini 
 coldly answered, ' that he must receive 
 the Colonna Cardinals into his favor ; 
 he must not now disown what had 
 been wrung from him by compulsion.' 
 ' I will pardon them,' said Boniface, 
 * but the mercy of the Pope is not to 
 be from compulsion.' He found him- 
 self again a prisoner. 
 
 " This last mortification crushed the 
 bodily, if not the mental strength of 
 the Pope. Among the Ghibellines 
 terrible stories were bruited abroad of 
 his death. In an access of fury, either 
 from poison or wounded pride, he sat 
 gnawing the top of his staff, and at 
 length either beat out his own brains 
 against the wall, or smothered himself 
 (a strange notion !) with his own pil- 
 lows. More friendly, probably more 
 trustworthy, accounts describe him as 
 sadly but quietly breathing his last, 
 surrounded by eight Cardinals, having 
 confessed the faith and received the 
 consoling offices of the Church. The 
 Cardinal-Poet anticipates his mild sen- 
 tence from the Divine Judge. 
 
 " The religious mind of Christen- 
 dom was at once perplexed and hor- 
 ror-stricken by this act of sacrilegious 
 violence on the person of the Supreme 
 Pontiff; it shocked some even of the 
 sternest Ghibellines. Dante, who 
 brands the pride, the avarice, the 
 treachery of Boniface in his most ter- 
 rible, words, and has consigned him to 
 the direst doom, (though it is true that 
 his alliance with the French, with 
 Charles of Valois, by whom the poet 
 had been driven into exile, was among 
 the deepest causes of his hatred to 
 Boniface,) nevertheless expresses the 
 almost universal feeling. Christendom 
 shuddered to behold the Fleur-de-lis 
 enter into Anagni, and Christ again cap- 
 tive in his Vicar, the mockery, the gall 
 and vinegar, the crucifixion between 
 living robbers, the insolent and sacri- 
 legious cruelty of the second Pilate." 
 
 Compare this scene with that of his 
 inauguration as Pope, Inf. XIX. Note 53. 
 
 91. This " modern Pilate " is Phil- 
 ip the Fair, and the allusion in the 
 following lines is to the persecution 
 and suppression of the Order of the 
 Knights Templars, in 1307 -13 12. 
 See Milman, Lat. Christ., Book XII. 
 Ch. 2, and Villani, VIII. 92, who says 
 the act was committed per cupidigia di 
 guadagnare y for love of gain ; and says 
 also : " The king of France and his 
 children had afterwards much shame 
 and adversity, both on account of this 
 sin and on account of the seizure of 
 Pope Boniface." 
 
 97. What he was saying of the Vir- 
 gin Mary, line 19. 
 
3io 
 
 Notes 
 
 103. The brother of Dido and 
 murderer of her husband. JEneid, I. 
 350 : " He, impious and blinded with 
 the love of gold, having taken Sichaeus 
 by surprise, secretly assassinates him 
 before the altar, regardless of his sis- 
 ter's great affection." 
 
 106. The Phrygian king, who, for 
 his hospitality to Silenus, was endowed 
 by Bacchus with the fatal power of 
 turning all he touched to gold. The 
 most laughable thing about him was 
 his wearing ass's ears, as a punishment 
 for preferring the music of Pan to that 
 of Apollo. 
 
 Ovid, XL, Croxall's Tr. : — 
 
 " Pan tuned the pipe, and with his rural song 
 Pleased the low taste of all the vulgar throng ; 
 Such songs a vulgar judgment mostly please : 
 Midas was there, and Midas judged with 
 these. " 
 
 See also Hawthorne's story of The 
 Golden Touch in his Wonder-Book. 
 
 109. Joshua vii. 21: " When I saw 
 among the spoils a goodly Babylonish 
 garment, and two hundred shekels of 
 silver, and a wedge of gold of fifty 
 shekels weight, then I coveted them, 
 and took them ; and behold, they are 
 hid in the earth in the midst of my 
 tent, and the silver under it." 
 
 112. Acts v. 1, 2: "But a certain 
 man named Ananias, with Sapphira 
 his wife, sold a possession, and kept 
 back part of the price, his wife also 
 being privy to it, and brought a cer- 
 tain part, and laid it at the apostles' 
 feet." 
 
 113. The hoof-beats of the miracu- 
 lous horse in the Temple of Jerusalem, 
 
 when Heliodorus, the treasurer of 
 King Seleucus, went there to remove 
 the treasure. 2 Maccabees iii. 25 : 
 " For there appeared unto them an 
 horse with a terrible rider upon 
 him, and adorned with a very fair 
 covering, and he ran fiercely, and 
 smote at Heliodorus with his fore- 
 feet, and it seemed that he that sat 
 upon the horse had complete harness 
 of gold." 
 
 115. jEneid, III. 49, Davidson's 
 Tr. : " This Polydore unhappy Priam 
 had formerly sent in secrecy, with a 
 great weight of gold, to be brought up 
 by the king of Thrace, when he now 
 began to distrust the arms of Troy, and 
 saw the city with close siege blocked 
 up. He, [Polymnestor,] as soon as 
 the power of the Trojans was crushed, 
 and their fortune gone, espousing Aga- 
 memnon's interest and victorious arms, 
 breaks every sacred bond, assassinates 
 Polydore, and by violence possesses his 
 gold. Cursed thirst of gold, to what 
 dost thou not drive the hearts of 
 men ! " 
 
 116. Lucinius Crassus, surnamed 
 the Rich. He was Consul with Pom- 
 pey, and on one occasion displayed his 
 vast wealth by giving an entertainment 
 to the populace, at which the guests 
 were so numerous that they occupied 
 ten thousand tables. He was slain in a 
 battle with the Parthians, and his head 
 was sent to the Parthian king, Hyrodes, 
 who had molten gold poured down its 
 throat. Plutarch does not mention this 
 circumstance in his Life of Crassus, but 
 says : — 
 
Pzirgatorio xxi. 
 
 3ii 
 
 " When the head of Crassus was 
 brought to the door, the tables were 
 just taken away, and one Jason, a tragic 
 actor of the town of Tralles, was sing- 
 ing the scene in the Bacchas of Eurip- 
 ides concerning Agave. He was re- 
 ceiving much applause, when Sillaces 
 coming to the room, and having made 
 obeisance to the king, threw down the 
 head of Crassus into the midst of the 
 company. The Parthians receiving it 
 with joy and acclamations, Sillaces, by 
 the king's command, was made to sit 
 down, while Jason handed over the 
 costume of Pentheus to one of the dan- 
 eers in the chorus, and taking up the 
 head of Crassus, and acting the part of 
 a bacchante in her frenzy, in a rap- 
 turous, impassioned manner, sang the 
 lyric passages, 
 
 ' We 've hunted down a mighty chase to-day, 
 And from the mountain bring the noble 
 prey.' " 
 
 122. This is in answer to Dante's 
 question, line 35 : — 
 
 " And why only 
 Thou dost renew these praises well deserved ?" 
 
 128. The occasion of this quaking 
 of the mountain is given, Canto XXI. 
 58:- 
 
 "It trembles here, whenever any soul 
 
 Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves 
 To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it." 
 
 130. An island in the ^Egean Sea, 
 in the centre of the Cyclades. It was 
 thrown up by an earthquake, in order 
 to receiy^e Latona, when she gave birth 
 to Apollo and Diana, — the Sun and 
 the Moon. 
 
 136. Luke ii. 13, 14: "And sud- 
 denly there was with the angel a multi- 
 tude of the heavenly host, praising 
 God, and saying, Glory to God in the 
 highest, and on earth peace, good will 
 toward men." 
 
 140. Gower, Conf. Amant.,\\\. 5: — 
 
 " When Goddes sone also was bore, 
 He sent his aungel down therfore, 
 Whom the shepherdes herden singe : 
 Pees to the men of welwillinge 
 In erthe be amonge us here." 
 
 CANTO XXI. 
 
 I. This canto is devoted to the in- 
 terview with the poet Statius, whose 
 release from punishment was announced 
 by the earthquake and the outcry at the 
 end of the last canto. 
 
 3. John iv. 14, 15: "Whosoever 
 drinketh of the water that I shall give 
 him, shall never thirst The wo- 
 man saith unto him, Sir, give me this 
 
 water, that I thirst not, neither come 
 hither to draw." 
 
 7. Luke xxiv. 13-15 : "And, behold, 
 two of them went that same day to a 
 village called Emmaus, which was from 
 Jerusalem about threescore furlongs. 
 And they talked together of all these 
 things which had happened. And it 
 came to pass, that, while they com- 
 
312 
 
 Notes 
 
 muned together and reasoned, Jesus 
 himself drew near, and went with 
 them." 
 
 15. Among the monks of the Mid- 
 dle Ages there were certain salutations, 
 which had their customary replies or 
 countersigns. Thus one would say, 
 "Peace be with thee!" and the an- 
 swer would be, "And with thy spirit ! " 
 Or, " Praised be the Lord ! " and the 
 answer, " World without end ! " 
 
 22. The letters upon Dante's fore- 
 head. 
 
 25. Lachesis. Of the three Fates, 
 Clotho prepared and held the distaff, 
 Lachesis spun the thread, and Atropos 
 cut it. 
 
 " These," says Plato, Republic, X., 
 " are the daughters of Necessity, the 
 Fates, Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos ; 
 who, clothed in white robes, with gar- 
 lands on their heads, chant to the 
 music of the Sirens ; Lachesis the 
 events of the Past, Clotho those of the 
 Present, Atropos those of the Future." 
 
 33. See Canto XVIII. 46: — 
 
 " What reason seeth here, 
 Myself can tell thee ; beyond that await 
 For Beatrice, since 't is a work of faith." 
 
 So also Cowley, in his poem on the 
 Use of Reason in Divine Matters : — 
 
 "Though Reason cannot through Faith's mys- 
 teries see, 
 
 It sees that there and such they be ; 
 
 Leads to heaven's door, and there does humbly 
 keep, 
 
 And there through chinks and keyholes peep; 
 
 Though it, like Moses, by a sad command 
 
 Must not come into the Holy Land, 
 
 Yet thither it infallibly does guide, 
 
 And from afar 't is all descried." 
 
 40. Nothing unusual ever disturbs 
 the religio loci, the sacredness of the 
 mountain. 
 
 44. This happens only when the 
 soul, that came from heaven, is re- 
 ceived back into heaven ; not from 
 any natural causes affecting earth or 
 air. 
 
 48. The gate of Purgatory, which 
 is also the gate of Heaven. 
 
 50. Iris, one of the Oceanides, the 
 daughter of Thaumas andElectraj the 
 rainbow. 
 
 65. The soul in Purgatory feels as 
 great a desire to be punished for a sin, 
 as it had to commit it. 
 
 82. The siege of Jerusalem under 
 Titus, surnamed the " Delight of 
 Mankind," took place in the year 70. 
 Statius, who is here speaking, was born 
 at Naples in the reign of Claudius, and 
 had already become famous "under the 
 name that most endures and honors," 
 that is, as a poet. His works are the 
 S'ilv<£, or miscellaneous poems ; the 
 Tbebaid, an epic in twelve books ; and 
 the Achilleid, left unfinished. He wrote 
 also a tragedy, Agave, which is lost. 
 
 Juvenal says of him, Satire VTL, 
 Dryden's Tr. : — 
 
 "All Rome is pleased when Statius will re- 
 hearse, 
 And longing crowds expect the promised verse ; 
 His lofty numbers with so great a gust 
 They hear, and swallow with such eager lust: 
 But while the common suffrage crowned his 
 
 cause, 
 And broke the benches with their loud ap- 
 plause, 
 His Muse had starved, had not a piece unread, 
 And by a player bought, supplied her bread." 
 
Purgatorio xxn. 
 
 3i3 
 
 Dante shows his admiration of him 
 by placing him here. 
 
 89. Statius was not born in Tou- 
 louse, as Dante supposes, but in Na- 
 ples, as he himself states in his Silva, 
 which work was not discovered till 
 after Dante's death. The passage oc- 
 curs in Book III. Eclogue V., To Clau- 
 dia his Wife, where he describes the 
 beauties of Parthenope, and calls her 
 the mother and nurse of both, ambo- 
 rum genetrix altrixque. 
 
 Landino thinks that Dante's error 
 may be traced to Placidus Lactantius, 
 a commentator of the Thebaid, who 
 confounded Statius the poet of Naples 
 with Statius the rhetorician of Tou- 
 louse. 
 
 101. Would be willing to remain 
 another year in Purgatory. 
 
 114. Petrarca uses the same expres- 
 sion, — the lightning of the angelic 
 smile, il lampeggiar deW angelico riso. 
 
 131. See Canto XIX. 133. 
 
 CANTO XXII. 
 
 1. The ascent to the Sixth Cir- 
 cle, where the sin of Gluttony is pun- 
 ished. 
 
 5. Matthew v. 6 : "Blessed are they 
 which do hunger and thirst after right- 
 eousness ; for they shall be filled." 
 
 13. The satirist Juvenal, who flour- 
 ished at Rome during the last half of 
 the first century of the Christian era, 
 and died at the beginning of the sec- 
 ond, aged eighty. He was a contem- 
 porary of Statius, and survived him 
 some thirty years. 
 
 40. uEneid, III. 56 : " O cursed 
 hunger of gold, to what dost thou not 
 drive the hearts of men." 
 
 42. The punishment of the Avari- 
 cious and Prodigal. Inf. VII. 26: — 
 
 " With great howls 
 Rolling weights forward by main force of chest." 
 
 46. Dante says of the Avaricious 
 and Prodigal, Inf. VII. 56 : — 
 
 VOL. II. 40 
 
 " These from the sepulchre shall rise again 
 With the fist closed, and these with tresses 
 shorn." 
 
 56. Her two sons, Eteocles and Pol- 
 ynices, of whom Statius sings in the 
 Thebaid, and to whom Dante alludes 
 by way of illustration, Inf. XXVI. 54. 
 See also the Note. 
 
 58. Statius begins the Thebaid with. 
 an invocation to Clio, the Muse of 
 History, whose office it was to record 
 the heroic actions of brave men, I. 
 55: — 
 
 " What first, O Clio, shall adorn thy page, 
 The expiring prophet, or ^Etolian's rage ? 
 Say, wilt thou sing how, grim with hostile 
 
 blood, 
 Hippomedon repelled the rushing flood, 
 Lament the Arcadian youth's untimely fate, 
 Or Jove, opposed by Capaneus, relate ? " 
 
 Skelton, Elegy on the Earl of North- 
 umberland : — 
 
3H 
 
 Notes 
 
 " Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name 
 In the college of musis goddess hystoriale." 
 
 63. Saint Peter. 
 
 70. Virgil's Bucolics, Eel. IV. 5, a 
 passage supposed to foretell the birth of 
 Christ : " The last era of Cumasan song 
 is now arrived; the great series of ages 
 begins anew ; now the Virgin returns, 
 returns the Saturnian reign ; now a 
 new progeny is sent down from the 
 high heaven." 
 
 92. The Fourth Circle of Purga- 
 tory, where Sloth is punished. Canto 
 XVII. 85: — 
 
 " The love of good, remiss 
 In what it should have done, is here restored ; 
 Here plied again the ill-belated oar." 
 
 97. Some editions read in this line, 
 instead of nostro amico, — nostra antico, 
 our ancient Terence ; but the epithet 
 would be more appropriate to Plautus, 
 who was the earlier writer. 
 
 97, 98. Plautus, Caecilius, and Ter- 
 ence, the three principal Latin drama- 
 tists; Varro, "the most learned of the 
 Romans," the friend of Cicero, and 
 author of some five hundred volumes, 
 which made St. Augustine wonder how 
 he who wrote so many books could 
 find time to read so many ; and how 
 he who read so many could find time 
 to write so many. 
 
 100. Persius, the Latin satirist. 
 
 101. Homer. 
 
 106. Mrs. Browning, Wine of Cy- 
 prus : — 
 
 " Our Euripides, the human, — 
 
 With his droppings of warm tears ; 
 And his touches of things common, 
 Till they rose to touch the spheres." 
 
 But why does Dante make no mention 
 here of "^Eschylus the thunderous " 
 and " Sophocles the royal " ? 
 
 Antiphon was a tragic and epic poet 
 of Attica, who was put to death by 
 Dionysius because he would not praise 
 the tyrant's writings. Some editions 
 read Anacreon for Antiphon. 
 
 107. Simonides, the poet of Cos, 
 who won a poetic prize at the age of 
 eighty, and is said to be the first poet 
 who wrote for money. 
 
 Agatho was an Athenian dramatist, 
 of whom nothing remains but the name 
 and a few passages quoted in other 
 writers. 
 
 1 10. Some of the people that Sta- 
 tius introduces into his poems. An- 
 tigone, daughter of CEdipus; Deiphile, 
 wife of Tideus; Argia, her sister, wife 
 of Polynices; Ismene, another daughter 
 of CEdipus, who is here represented 
 as still lamenting the death of Atys, 
 her betrothed. 
 
 112. Hypsipile, who pointed out to 
 Adrastus the fountain of Langia, when 
 his soldiers were perishing with thirst 
 on their march against Thebes. 
 
 113. Of the three daughters of Ti- 
 resias only Manto is mentioned by 
 Statius in the Thebaid. But Dante 
 places Manto among the Soothsayers, 
 Inf. XX. 55, and not in Limbo. Had 
 he forgotten this ? 
 
 113, 114. Thetis, the mother of 
 Achilles, and Deidamia, the daughter 
 of Lycomedes. They are among the 
 personages in the Acbilleid of Statius. 
 
 118. Four hours of the day were 
 already passed. 
 
Purgatorio xxn. 
 
 315 
 
 131. Cowley, The Tree of Know l- 
 
 " The sacred tree 'midst the fair orchard grew, 
 The phcenix Truth did on it rest 
 And built his perfumed nest, 
 That right Porphyrian tree which did true 
 
 Logic show ; 
 Each leaf did learned notions give 
 And th' apples were demonstrative ; 
 So clear their color and divine 
 The very shade they cast did other lights 
 outshine." 
 
 This tree of Temptation, however, 
 is hardly the tree of Knowledge, though 
 sprung from it, as Dante says of the 
 next, in Canto XXIV. 1 17. It is meant 
 only to increase the torment of the starv- 
 ing souls beneath it, by holding its fresh 
 and dewy fruit beyond their reach. 
 
 142. John ii. 3 : "And when they 
 wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith 
 unto him, They have no wine." 
 
 146. Daniel i. 12: "Prove thy ser- 
 vants, I beseech thee, ten days ; and 
 let them give us pulse to eat and water 
 to drink And Daniel had under- 
 standing in all visions and dreams." 
 
 148. Compare the description of 
 the Golden Age in Ovid, Met., I.: — 
 
 " The golden age was first ; when man, yet 
 new, 
 No rule but uncorrupted reason knew, 
 And, with a native bent, did good pursue. 
 Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear, 
 His words were simple, and his soul sincere; 
 Needless was written law, where none opprest : 
 The law of man was written in his breast : 
 No suppliant crowds before the judge appeared, 
 No court erected yet, nor cause was heard : 
 But all was safe, for conscience was their guard. 
 The mountain-trees in distant prospect please, 
 Ere yet the pine descended to the seas ; 
 
 Ere sails were spread, new oceans to explore ; 
 And happy mortals, unconcerned for more, 
 Confined their wishes to their native shore. 
 No walls were yet : nor fence, nor mote, nor 
 
 mound, 
 Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound : 
 Nor swords were forged ; but, void of care and 
 
 crime, 
 The soft creation slept away their time. 
 The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough, 
 And unprovoked, did fruitful stores allow : 
 Content with food, which nature freely bred, 
 On wildings and on strawberries they fed ; 
 Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest, 
 And falling acorns furnished out a feast. 
 The flowers unsown in fields and meadows 
 
 reigned ; 
 And western winds immortal spring maintained. 
 In following years, the bearded corn ensued 
 From earth unasked, nor was that earth re- 
 newed. 
 From veins of valleys milk and nectar broke, 
 And honey sweating through the pores of oak." 
 
 Also Boethius, Book II. Met. 5, and 
 the Ode in Tasso's Aminta, Leigh Hunt's 
 Tr., beginning : — 
 
 "O lovely age of gold ! 
 
 Not that the rivers rolled 
 
 With milk, or that the woods wept honey- 
 dew ; 
 
 Not that the ready ground 
 
 Produced without a wound, 
 
 Or the mild serpent had no tooth that slew ; 
 
 Not that a cloudless blue 
 
 Forever was in sight, 
 
 Or that the heaven which burns, 
 
 And now is cold by turns, 
 
 Looked out in glad and everlasting light ; 
 
 No, nor that even the insolent ships from far 
 
 Brought war to no new lands, nor riches 
 worse than war : 
 
 " But solely that that vain 
 And breath-invented pain, 
 That idol of mistake, that worshipped cheat, 
 
316 
 
 Notes 
 
 That Honor, — since so called 
 
 By vulgar minds appalled, — 
 
 Played not the tyrant with our nature yet. 
 
 It had not come to fret 
 
 The sweet and happy fold 
 
 Of gentle human-kind ; 
 
 Nor did its hard law bind 
 
 Souls nursed in freedom ; but that law of 
 
 gold, 
 That glad and golden law, all free, all fitted, 
 Which Nature's own hand wrote, — What 
 
 pleases, is permitted." 
 
 Also Don Quixote's address to the 
 goatherds, Don £>uix., Book II. Ch. 3, 
 Jarvis's Tr. : — 
 
 " After Don Quixote had satisfied 
 his hunger, he took up an handful of 
 acorns, and, looking on them atten- 
 tively, gave utterance to expressions 
 like these : — 
 
 " ' Happy times, and happy ages ! 
 those to which the ancients gave the 
 name of golden, not because gold 
 (which, in this our iron age, is so 
 much esteemed) was to be had, in 
 that fortunate period, without toil and 
 labor ; but because they who then 
 lived were ignorant of these two 
 words, Meum and Tuum. In that 
 age of innocence, all things were in 
 common ; no one needed to take any 
 other pains for his ordinary sustenance, 
 than to lift up his hand and take it 
 from the sturdy oaks, which stood in- 
 viting him liberally to taste of their 
 sweet and relishing fruit. The limpid 
 fountains, and running streams, offered 
 them, in magnificent abundance, their 
 delicious and transparent waters. In 
 the clefts of rocks, and in the hollow 
 of trees, did the industrious and provi- 
 
 dent bees form their commonwealths, 
 offering to every hand, without usury, 
 the fertile produce of their most deli- 
 cious toil. The stout cork-trees, with- 
 out any other inducement than that of 
 their own courtesy, divested themselves 
 of their light and expanded bark, with 
 which men began to cover their houses, 
 supported by rough poles, only for a 
 defence against the inclemency of the 
 seasons. All then was peace, all ami- 
 ty, all concord. As yet the heavy 
 coulter of the crooked plough had not 
 dared to force open, and search into, 
 the tender bowels of our first mother, 
 who unconstrained offered, from every 
 part of her fertile and spacious bosom, 
 whatever might feed, sustain, and de- 
 light those her children, who then 
 had her in possession. Then did the 
 simple and beauteous young shepherd- 
 esses trip it from dale to dale, and from 
 hill to hill, their tresses sometimes plait- 
 ed, sometimes loosely flowing, with 
 no more clothing than was necessary 
 modestly to cover what modesty has 
 always required to be concealed ; nor 
 were there ornaments like those now- 
 a-days in fashion, to which the Tyrian 
 purple and the so-many-ways martyred 
 silk give a value ; but composed of 
 green dock-leaves and ivy interwoven ; 
 with which, perhaps, they went as 
 splendidly and elegantly decked as our 
 court-ladies do now, with all those 
 rare and foreign inventions which idle 
 curiosity hath taught them. Then 
 were the amorous conceptions of the 
 soul clothed in simple and sincere ex- 
 pressions, in the same way and manner 
 
PtLTgatorio xxm. 
 
 317 
 
 they were conceived, without seeking so much depreciate, confound, and per- 
 
 artificial phrases to set them off. Nor secute her, not daring then to disturb 
 
 as yet were fraud, deceit, and malice or offend her. As yet the judge did 
 
 intermixed with truth and plain-deal- not make his own will the measure of 
 
 ing. Justice kept within her proper justice ; for then there was neither 
 
 bounds; favor and interest, which now cause nor person to be judged.'" 
 
 CANTO XXIII 
 
 I. The punishment of the sin of 
 Gluttony. 
 
 3. Shakespeare, As You Like It, II. 
 
 7 = — 
 
 " Under the shade of melancholy boughs 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time." 
 
 II. Psalms li. 15 : " O Lord, open 
 thou my lips ; and my mouth shall 
 show forth thy praise." 
 
 26. Erisichthon the Thessalian, who 
 in derision cut down an ancient oak in 
 the sacred groves of Ceres. He was 
 punished by perpetual hunger, till, 
 other food failing him, at last he 
 gnawed his own flesh. Ovid, Met. 
 VIII., Vernon's Tr.: — 
 
 "Straight he requires, impatient in demand, 
 Provisions from the air, the seas, the land ; 
 But though the land, air, seas, provisions grant, 
 Starves at full tables, and complains of want. 
 What to a people might in dole be paid, 
 Or victual cities for a long blockade, 
 Could not one wolfish appetite assuage ; 
 For glutting nourishment increased its rage. 
 As rivers poured from every distant shore 
 The sea insatiate drinks, and thirsts for more ; 
 Or as the fire, which all materials burns, 
 And wasted forests into ashes turns, 
 Grows more voracious as the more it preys, 
 Recruits dilate the flame, and spread the blaze: 
 So impious Erisichthon's hunger raves, 
 
 Receives refreshments, and refreshments craves. 
 
 Food raises a desire for food, and meat 
 
 Is but a new provocative to eat. 
 
 He grows more empty as the more supplied, 
 
 And endless cramming but extends the void." 
 
 30. This tragic tale of the siege of 
 Jerusalem by Titus is thus told in Jo- 
 sephus, Jewish War, Book VI. Ch. 3, 
 Whiston's Tr. : — 
 
 " There was a certain woman that 
 dwelt beyond Jordan ; her name was 
 Mary ; her father was Eleazar, of the 
 village Bethezub, which signifies the 
 house of Hyssop. She was eminent 
 for her family and her wealth, and 
 had fled away to Jerusalem with the 
 rest of the multitude, and was with 
 them besieged therein at this time. 
 The other effects of this woman had 
 been already seized upon, such I mean 
 as she had brought with her out of 
 Perea, and removed to the city. What 
 she had treasured up besides, as also 
 what food she had contrived to save, 
 had been also carried off by the rapa- 
 cious guards, who came every day run- 
 ning into her house for that purpose. 
 This put the poor woman into a very 
 great passion, and by the frequent re- 
 
3i8 
 
 Notes 
 
 proaches and imprecations she cast at 
 these rapacious villains, she had pro- 
 voked them to anger against her ; but 
 none of them, either out of the indig- 
 nation she had raised against herself, 
 or out of commiseration of her case, 
 would take away her life. And if she 
 found any food, she perceived her la- 
 bors were for others and not for her- 
 self; and it was now become impos- 
 sible for her any way to find any more 
 food, while the famine pierced through 
 her very bowels and marrow, when 
 also her passion was fired to a degree 
 beyond the famine itself. Nor did she 
 consult with anything but with her 
 passion and the necessity she was in. 
 She then attempted a most unnatural 
 thing, and, snatching up her son who 
 was a child sucking at her breast, she 
 said, ' O thou miserable infant ! For 
 whom shall I preserve thee in this 
 war, this famine, and this sedition ? 
 As to the war with the Romans, if they 
 preserve our lives, we must be slaves. 
 This famine also will destroy us, even 
 before that slavery comes upon us. 
 Yet are these seditious rogues more 
 terrible than both the other. Come 
 on, be thou my food, and be thou a 
 fury to these seditious varlets, and a 
 byword to the world ; which is all 
 that is now wanting to complete the 
 calamities of the Jews.' As soon as 
 she had said this, she slew her son, and 
 then roasted him, and ate the one half 
 of him, and kept the other half by her 
 concealed. Upon this the seditious 
 came in presently, and, smelling the 
 horrid scent of this food, they threat- 
 
 ened her that they would cut her throat 
 immediately, if she did not show them 
 what food she had gotten ready. She 
 replied, that she had saved a very fine 
 portion of it for them ; and withal 
 uncovered what was left of her son. 
 Hereupon they were seized with a hor- 
 ror and amazement of mind, and stood 
 astonished at the sight, when she said 
 to them : ' This is mine own son, and 
 what hath been done was mine own 
 doing. Come, eat of this food ; for 
 I have eaten of it myself. Do not 
 you pretend to be either more tender 
 than a woman, or more compassionate 
 than a mother. But if you be so 
 scrupulous, and do abominate this my 
 sacrifice, as I have eaten the one half, 
 let the rest be reserved for me also.' 
 After which those men went out trem- 
 bling, being never so much affrighted 
 at anything as they were at this, and 
 with some difficulty they left the rest 
 of that meat to the mother. Upon 
 which the whole city was full of this 
 horrid action immediately ; and while 
 everybody laid this miserable case be- 
 fore their own eyes, they trembled as 
 if this unheard of action had been done 
 by themselves. So those that were 
 thus distressed by the famine were very 
 desirous to die, and those already dead 
 were esteemed happy, because they 
 had not lived long enough either to 
 hear or to see such miseries." 
 
 3 1 . Shakespeare, King LearN . 3 : — 
 
 " And in this habit 
 Met I my father with his bleeding rings, 
 Their precious stones new lost." 
 
 32. In this fanciful recognition of 
 
Purgatorio xxm. 
 
 3i9 
 
 the word omo {homo, man) in the hu- 
 man face, so written as to place the two 
 <?'s between the outer strokes of the m, 
 the former represent the eyes, and the 
 latter the nose and cheekbones: 
 
 6>61 
 
 Brother Berthold, a Franciscan monk 
 of Regensburg, in the thirteenth cen- 
 tury, makes the following allusion to it 
 in one of his sermons. See Wacker- 
 nagel, Deutsche* Lesebuch, I. 678. The 
 monk carries out the resemblance into 
 still further detail : — 
 
 " Now behold, ye blessed children 
 of God, the Almighty has created you 
 soul and body. And he has written it 
 under your eyes and on your faces, that 
 you are created in his likeness. He has 
 written it upon your very faces with 
 ornamented letters. With great dili- 
 gence are they embellished and orna- 
 mented. This your learned men well 
 understand, but the unlearned may not 
 understand it. The two eyes are two 
 oh. The h is properly no letter; it on- 
 ly helps the others; so that homo with 
 an h means Man. Likewise the brows 
 arched above, and the nose down be- 
 tween them are an m, beautiful with 
 three strokes. So is the ear a d, beauti- 
 fully rounded and ornamented. So are 
 the nostrils beautifully formed like a 
 Greek e, beautifully rounded and orna- 
 mented. So is the mouth an 2, beauti- 
 fully adorned and ornamented. Now 
 behold, ye good Christian people, how 
 skilfully he has adorned you with these 
 six letters, to show that ye are his 
 
 own, and that he has created you! 
 Now read me an and an m and an- 
 other together ; that spells homo. 
 Then read me a d and an e and an / 
 together ; that spells dei. Homo del, 
 man of God, man of God ! " 
 
 48. Forese Donati, the brother-in- 
 law and intimate friend of Dante. 
 "This Forese," says Buti, "was a citi- 
 zen of Florence, and was brother of 
 Messer Corso Donati, and was very 
 gluttonous ; and therefore the author 
 feigns that he found him here, where 
 the Gluttons are punished." 
 
 Certain vituperative sonnets, ad- 
 dressed to Dante, have been attributed 
 to Forese. If authentic, they prove 
 that the friendship between the two 
 poets was not uninterrupted. See 
 Rossetti, Early Italian Poets, Appendix 
 to Part II. 
 
 74. The same desire that sacrifice 
 and atonement may be complete. 
 
 75. Matthew xxvii. 46 : "Eli, Eli, 
 lama sabacthani ? that is to say, My 
 God, my God, why hast thou forsaken 
 me ? " 
 
 83. Outside the gate of Purgatory, 
 where those who had postponed re- 
 pentance till the last hour were forced 
 to wait as many years and days as they 
 had lived impenitent on earth, unless 
 aided by the devout prayers of those 
 on earth. See Canto IV. 
 
 87. Nella, contraction of Giovan- 
 nella, widow of Forese. Nothing is 
 known of this good woman but the 
 name, and what Forese here says in 
 her praise. 
 
 94. Covino, Descriz. Geograf. deW 
 
320 
 
 Notes 
 
 Italia, p. 52, says: "In the district 
 of Arborea, on the slopes of the Gen- 
 nargentu, the most vast and lofty 
 mountain range of Sardinia, spreads an 
 alpine country which in Dante's time, 
 being almost barbarous, was called the 
 Barbagia." 
 
 102. Sacchetti, the Italian novelist 
 of the fourteenth century, severely 
 criticises the fashions of the Floren- 
 tines, and their sudden changes, which 
 he says it would take a whole vol- 
 ume of his stories to enumerate. In 
 Nov. 178, he speaks of their wearing 
 their dresses " far below their arm- 
 pits," and then "up to their ears"; 
 and continues, in Napier's version, 
 Flor. Hist., II. 539: — 
 
 " The young Florentine girls, who 
 used to dress so modestly, have now 
 changed the fashion of their hoods to 
 resemble courtesans, and thus attired 
 they move about laced up to the throat, 
 with all sorts of animals hanging as 
 ornaments about their necks. Their 
 sleeves, or rather their sacks, as they 
 should be called, — was there ever so 
 useless and pernicious a fashion ! Can 
 any of them reach a glass or take a 
 morsel from the table without dirtying 
 herself or the cloth by the things she 
 knocks down? And thus do the young 
 men, and worse ; and such sleeves are 
 made even for sucking babes. The 
 women go about in hoods and cloaks ; 
 most of the young men without cloaks, 
 in long, flowing hair, and if they throw 
 
 off their breeches, which from their 
 smallness may easily be done, all is off, 
 for they literally stick their posteriors 
 into a pair of socks and expend a yard 
 of cloth on their wristbands, while 
 more stufF is put into a glove than a 
 cloak-hood. However, I am comforted 
 by one thing, and that is, that all now 
 have begun to put their feet in chains, 
 perhaps as a penance for the many 
 vain things they are guilty of; for we 
 are but a day in this world, and in that 
 day the fashion is changed a thousand 
 times : all seek liberty, yet all deprive 
 themselves of it : God has made our 
 feet free, and many with long pointed 
 toes to their shoes can scarcely walk : 
 he has supplied the legs with hinges, 
 and many have so bound them up with 
 close lacing that they can scarcely sit : 
 the bust is tightly bandaged up ; the 
 arms trail their drapery along ; the 
 throat is rolled in a capuchin ; the 
 head so loaded and bound round with 
 caps over the hair that it appears as 
 though it were sawed ofF. And thus 
 I might go on forever discoursing of 
 female absurdities, commencing with 
 the immeasurable trains at their feet, 
 and proceeding regularly upwards to 
 the head, with which they may always 
 be seen occupied in their chambers ; 
 some curling, some smoothing, and 
 some whitening it, so that they often 
 kill themselves with colds caught in 
 these vain occupations." 
 132. Statius. 
 
Ptirgatorio xxiv. 
 
 321 
 
 CANTO XXIV. 
 
 I. Continuation of the punishment 
 of Gluttony. 
 
 7. Continuing the words with which 
 the preceding canto closes, and refer- 
 ring to Statius. 
 
 10. Piccarda, sister of Forese and 
 Corso Donati. She was a nun of Santa 
 Clara, and is seen by Dante in the 
 first heaven of Paradise, which Forese 
 calls "high Olympus." See Par. III. 
 49, where her story is told more in 
 detail. 
 
 19. Buonagiunta Urbisani of Lucca 
 is one of the early minor poets of Italy, 
 a contemporary of Dante. Rossetti, 
 Early Italian Poets, jj, gives some 
 specimens of his sonnets and canzoni. 
 All that is known of him is contained 
 in Benvenuto's brief notice : " Buona- 
 giunta of Urbisani, an honorable man 
 of the city of Lucca, a brilliant orator 
 in his mother tongue, a facile producer 
 of rhymes, and still more facile con- 
 sumer of wines; who knew our author 
 in his lifetime, and sometimes cor- 
 responded with him." 
 
 Tiraboschi also mentions him, Storia 
 della Lett., IV. 397 : " He was seen 
 by Dante in Purgatory punished among 
 the Gluttons, from which vice, it is 
 proper to say, poetry did not render 
 him exempt." 
 
 22. Pope Martin the Fourth, whose 
 fondness for the eels of Bolsena brought 
 his life to a sudden close, and his soul 
 to this circle of Purgatory, has been rid- 
 iculed in the well-known epigram, — 
 
 VOL. II. 41 
 
 " Gaudent anguillae, quod mortuus hie jacet ille 
 Q_ui quasi morte reas excoriabat eas." 
 
 " Martin the Fourth," says Milman, 
 Hist. Lat. Christ., VI. 143, "was born 
 at Mont Pence in Brie ; he had been 
 Canon of Tours. He put on at first 
 the show of maintaining the lofty char- 
 acter of the Churchman. He ex- 
 communicated the Viterbans for their 
 sacrilegious maltreatment of the Cardi- 
 nals; Rinaldo Annibaldeschi, the Lord 
 of Viterbo, was compelled to ask par- 
 don on his knees of the Cardinal Ros- 
 so, and forgiven only at the interven- 
 tion of the Pope. Martin the Fourth 
 retired to Orvieto. 
 
 " But the Frenchman soon began to 
 predominate over the PontifF; he sunk 
 into the vassal of Charles of Anjou. 
 The great policy of his predecessor, to 
 assuage the feuds of Guelph and Ghib- 
 elline, was an Italian policy ; it was 
 altogether abandoned. The Ghibel- 
 lines in every city were menaced or 
 smitten with excommunication ; the 
 Lambertazzi were driven from Bologna. 
 Forli was placed under interdict for 
 harboring the exiles ; the goods of the 
 citizens were confiscated for the benefit 
 of the Pope. Bertoldo Orsini was de- 
 posed from the Countship of Romagna ; 
 the office was bestowed on John of 
 Appia, with instructions everywhere 
 to coerce or to chastise the refractory 
 Ghibellines." 
 
 Villani, Book VI. Ch. 106, says : 
 " He was a good man, and very favor- 
 
322 
 
 Notes 
 
 able to Holy Church and to those 
 of the house of France, because he was 
 from Tours." 
 
 He is said to have died of a surfeit. 
 The eels and sturgeon of Bolsena, and 
 the wines of Orvieto and Montefias- 
 cone, in the neighborhood of whose 
 vineyards he lived, were too much for 
 him. But he died in Perugia, not in 
 Orvieto. 
 
 24. The Lake of Bolsena is in the 
 Papal States, a few miles northwest of 
 Viterbo, on the road from Rome to 
 Siena. It is thus described in Murray's 
 Handbook of Central Italy, p. 199 : — 
 
 " Its circular form, and being in the 
 centre of a volcanic district, has led to 
 its being regarded as an extinct crater ; 
 but that hypothesis can scarcely be ad- 
 mitted when the great extent of the 
 lake is considered. The treacherous 
 beauty of the lake conceals malaria in 
 its most fatal forms ; and its shores, al- 
 though there are no traces of a marsh, 
 are deserted, excepting where a few 
 sickly hamlets are scattered on their 
 western slopes. The ground is culti- 
 vated in many parts down to the 
 water's edge, but the laborers dare not 
 sleep for a single night during the sum- 
 mer or autumn on the plains where 
 they work by day; and a large tract 
 of beautiful and productive country is 
 reduced to a perfect solitude by this 
 invisible calamity. Nothing can be 
 more striking than the appearance of 
 the lake, without a single sail upon its 
 waters, and with scarcely a human 
 habitation within sight of Bolsena ; 
 and nothing perhaps can give the trav- 
 
 eller who visits Italy for the first time 
 a more impressive idea of the effects 
 of malaria." 
 
 Of the Vernaccia or Vernage, in 
 which Pope Martin cooked his eels, 
 Henderson says, Hist. Anc. and Mod. 
 Wines, p. 296 : " The Vernage .... 
 was a red wine, of a bright color, and 
 a sweetish and somewhat rough flavor, 
 which was grown in Tuscany and 
 other parts of Italy, and derived its 
 name from the thick-skinned grape, 
 vernaccia (corresponding with the vina- 
 ciola of the ancients), that was used in 
 the preparation of it." 
 
 Chaucer mentions it in the Merchant's 
 Tale : — 
 
 " He drinketh ipocras, clarre, and vernage 
 Of spices hot, to encreasen his corage." 
 
 And Redi, Bacchus in Tuscany, Leigh 
 Hunt's Tr., p. 30, sings of it thus : — 
 " If anybody does n't like Vernaccia, 
 
 I mean that sort that 's made in Pietrafitta, 
 
 Let him fly 
 
 My violent eye ; 
 
 I curse him, clean, through all the Alpha- 
 beta." 
 
 28. Ovid, Met. VII., says of Eri- 
 sichthon, that he 
 
 " Deludes his throat with visionary fare, 
 Feasts on the wind and banquets on the air." 
 
 29. Ubaldin dalla Pila was a brother 
 of the Cardinal Ottaviano degli Ubal- 
 dini, mentioned Inf. X. 120, and fa- 
 ther of the Archbishop Ruggieri, Inf. 
 XXXIII. 14. According to Sacchetti, 
 Nov. 205, he passed most of his time 
 at his castle, and turned his gardener 
 into a priest; "and Messer Ubaldino," 
 continues the novelist, " put him into 
 
Purgatorio xxiv. 
 
 323 
 
 his church ; of which one may say he 
 made a pigsty ; for he did not put in 
 a priest, but a pig in the way of eating 
 and drinking, who had neither gram- 
 mar nor any good thing in him." 
 
 Some writers say that this Boniface, 
 Archbishop of Ravenna, was a son of 
 Ubaldino; but this is confounding him 
 with Ruggieri, Archbishop of Pisa. 
 He was of the Fieschi of Genoa. His 
 pasturing many people alludes to his 
 keeping a great retinue and court, and 
 the free life they led in matters of the 
 table. 
 
 31. Messer Marchese da Forli, who 
 answered the accusation made against 
 him, that "he was always drinking," by 
 saying, that " he was always thirsty." 
 
 37. A lady of Lucca with whom 
 Dante is supposed to have been en- 
 amored. " Let us pass over in si- 
 lence," says Balbo, Life and Times of 
 Dante, II. 177, " the consolations and 
 errors of the poor exile." But Buti 
 says : " He formed an attachment to 
 a gentle lady, called Madonna Gen- 
 tucca, of the family of Rossimpelo, on 
 account of her great virtue and mod- 
 esty, and not with any other love." 
 
 Benvenuto and the Ottimo interpret 
 the passage differently, making gentuc- 
 ca a common noun, — gente bassa, low 
 people. But the passage which im- 
 mediately follows, in which a maiden 
 is mentioned who should make Lucca 
 pleasant to him, seems to confirm the 
 former interpretation. 
 
 38. In the throat of the speaker, 
 where he felt the hunger and thirst of 
 his punishment. 
 
 50. Chaucer, Complaint of the Blacke 
 Knight, 194: — 
 
 " But even like as doth a skrivenere, 
 That can no more tell what that he shal write, 
 But as his maister beside dothe indite." 
 
 51. A canzone of the Vita Nuova, 
 beginning, in Rossetti's version, Early 
 Italian Poets, p. 255 : — 
 
 "Ladies that have intelligence in love, 
 
 Of mine own lady I would speak with you; 
 
 Not that I hope to count her praises through, 
 
 But, telling what I may, to ease my mind." 
 
 56. Jacopo da Lentino, or " the 
 Notary," was a Sicilian poet who 
 flourished about 1250, in the later days 
 of the Emperor Frederick the Second. 
 Crescimbeni, Hist. Volg. Poesia, III. 
 43, says that Dante " esteemed him so 
 highly, that he even mentions him in 
 his Comedy, doing him the favor to 
 put him into Purgatory." Tassoni, 
 and others after him, make the careless 
 statement that he addressed a sonnet to 
 Petrarca. He died before Petrarca was 
 born. Rossetti gives several specimens 
 of his sonnets and canzonette in his 
 Early Italian Poets, of which the fol- 
 lowing is one : — 
 
 "Of his Lady in Heaven. 
 11 1 have it in my heart to serve God so 
 That into Paradise I shall repair, — 
 The holy place through the which every- 
 where 
 I have heard say that joy and solace flow. 
 Without my lady I were loath to go, — 
 She who has the bright face and the bright 
 
 hair ; 
 Because if she were absent, I being there, 
 My pleasure would be less than naught, I 
 
 know. 
 Look you, I say not this to such intent 
 
324 
 
 Notes 
 
 As that I there would deal in any sin : 
 I only would behold her gracious mien, 
 
 And beautiful soft eyes, and lovely face, 
 That so it should.be my complete content 
 
 To see my lady joyful in her place." 
 
 Fra Guittone d' Arezzo, a contem- 
 porary of the Notary, was one of the 
 Frati Gaudenti, or Jovial Friars, men- 
 tioned in Inf. XXIII. Note 103. He 
 first brought the Italian Sonnet to the 
 perfect form it has since preserved, 
 and left behind the earliest specimens 
 of Italian letter-writing. These letters 
 are written in a very florid style, and 
 are perhaps more poetical than his 
 verses, which certainly fall very far 
 short of the " sweet new style." Of 
 all his letters the best is that To the 
 Florentines, from which a brief extract 
 is given Canto VI. Note 76. 
 
 82. Corso Donati, the brother of 
 Forese who is here speaking, and into 
 whose mouth nothing but Ghibelline 
 wrath could have put these words. 
 Corso was the leader of the Neri in 
 Florence, and a partisan of Charles de 
 Valois. His death is recorded by Vil- 
 lani, VIII. 96, and is thus described 
 by Napier, Flor. Hist., I. 407 : — 
 
 " The popularity of Corso was now 
 thoroughly undermined, and the priors, 
 after sounding the Campana for a gen- 
 eral assembly of the armed citizens, 
 laid a formal accusation before the Po- 
 desta Piero Branca d* Agobbio against 
 him for conspiring to overthrow the 
 liberties of his country, and endeavor- 
 ing to make himself Tyrant of Flo- 
 rence : he was immediately cited to 
 appear, and, not complying, from a rea- 
 
 sonable distrust of his judges, was with- 
 in one hour, against all legal forms, 
 condemned to lose his head, as a rebel 
 and traitor to the commonwealth. 
 
 " Not willing to allow the culprit 
 more time for an armed resistance than 
 had been given for legal vindication, 
 the Seignory, preceded by the Gon- 
 falonier of justice, and followed by the 
 Podesta, the captain of the people, and 
 the executor, — all attended by their 
 guards and officers, — issued from the 
 palace; and with the whole civic force 
 marshalled in companies, with banners 
 flying, moved forward to execute an 
 illegal sentence against a single citizen, 
 who nevertheless stood undaunted on 
 his defence. 
 
 "Corso, on first hearing of the pros- 
 ecution, had hastily barricaded all the 
 approaches to his palace, but, disabled 
 by the gout, could only direct the ne- 
 nessary operations from his bed ; yet 
 thus helpless, thus abandoned by all 
 but his own immediate friends and vas- 
 sals ; suddenly condemned to death ; 
 encompassed by the bitterest foes, with 
 the whole force of the republic banded 
 against him, he never cowered for an 
 instant, but courageously determined to 
 resist, until succored by Uguccione 
 della Faggiola, to whom he had sent 
 for aid. This attack continued during 
 the greater part of the day, and gener- 
 ally with advantage to the Donati, for 
 the people were not unanimous, and 
 many fought unwillingly, so that, if the 
 Rossi, Bardi, and other friends had 
 joined, and Uguccioni's forces arrived, 
 it would have gone hard with the citi- 
 
Purgatorio xxiv. 
 
 3 2 5 
 
 zens. The former were intimidated, 
 the latter turned back on hearing how 
 matters stood ; and then only did Cor- 
 so's adherents lose heart and slink from 
 from the barricades, while the towns- 
 men pursued their advantage by break- 
 ing down a garden wall opposite the 
 Stinche prisons and taking their enemy 
 in the rear. This completed the dis- 
 aster, and Corso, seing no chance re- 
 maining, fled towards the Casentino ; 
 but, being overtaken by some Cata- 
 lonian troopers in the Florentine ser- 
 vice, he was led back a prisoner from 
 Rovezzano. After vainly endeavoring 
 to bribe them, unable to support the 
 indignity of a public execution at the 
 hands of his enemies, he let himself 
 fall from his horse, and, receiving sev- 
 eral stabs in the neck and flank from 
 the Catalan lances, his body was left 
 bleeding on the road, until the monks 
 of San Salvi removed it to their con- 
 vent, where he was interred next 
 morning with the greatest privacy. 
 Thus perished Corso Donati, ' the 
 wisest and most worthy knight of his 
 time; the best speaker, the most expe- 
 rienced statesman ; the most renowned, 
 the boldest, and most enterprising no- 
 bleman in Italy : he was handsome in 
 person and of the most gracious man- 
 ners, but very worldly, and caused 
 infinite disturbance in Florence on 
 account of his ambition.' * . . . . 
 ' People now began to repose, and his 
 unhappy death was often and variously 
 discussed, according to the feelings of 
 friendship or enmity that moved the 
 
 * Villani, VIII. Ch. 96. 
 
 speaker; but in truth, his life was dan- 
 gerous, and his death reprehensible. 
 He was a knight of great mind and 
 name, gentle in manners as in blood ; 
 of a fine figure even in his old age, 
 with a beautiful countenance, delicate 
 features, and a fair complexion ; pleas- 
 ing, wise ; and an eloquent speaker. 
 His attention was ever fixed on im- 
 portant things ; he was intimate with 
 all the great and noble, had an exten- 
 sive influence, and was famous through- 
 out Italy. He was an enemy of the 
 middle classes and their supporters, be- 
 loved by the troops, but full of mali- 
 cious thoughts, wicked, and artful. He 
 was thus basely murdered by a foreign 
 soldier, and his fellow -citizens well 
 knew the man, for he was instantly 
 conveyed away : those who ordered 
 his death were Rosso della Tosa and 
 Pazzino de' Pazzi, as is commonly said 
 by all ; and some bless him and some 
 the contrary. Many believe that the 
 two said knights killed him, and I, 
 wishing to ascertain the truth, inquired 
 diligently, and found what I have said 
 to be true.'"!" Such is the character of 
 Corso Donati, which has come down 
 to us from two authors who must have 
 been personally acquainted with this 
 distinguished chief, but opposed to 
 each other in the general politics of 
 their country." 
 
 See also Inf. VI. Note 52. 
 
 99. Virgil and Statius. 
 
 105. Dante had only so far gone 
 round the circle, as to come in sight of 
 the second of these trees, which from 
 -j- Dino Compagni, III. 76. 
 
326 
 
 Notes 
 
 distance to distance encircle the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 1 1 6. In the Terrestrial Paradise on 
 the top of the mountain. 
 
 121. The Centaurs, born of Ixion 
 and the Cloud, and having the "dou- 
 ble breasts" of man and horse, became 
 drunk with wine at the marriage of 
 Hippodamia and Pirithous, and strove 
 to carry off the bride and the other 
 women by violence. Theseus and 
 the rest of the Lapithae opposed them, 
 and drove them from the feast. This 
 famous battle is described at great 
 length by Ovid, Met. XII., Dry- 
 den's Tr. : — 
 
 " For one, most brutal of the brutal brood, 
 Or whether wine or beauty fired his blood, 
 Or both at once, beheld with lustful eyes 
 The bride ; at once resolved to make his prize. 
 Down went the board ; and fastening on her hair, 
 He seized with sudden force the frighted fair. 
 'T was Eurytus began : his bestial kind 
 His crime pursued j and each, as pleased his 
 mind, 
 
 Or her whom chance presented, took : the feast 
 An image of a taken town expressed. 
 
 " The cave resounds with female shrieks j 
 we rise 
 Mad with revenge, to make a swift reprise : 
 And Theseus first, ' What frenzy has possessed, 
 O Eurytus,' he cried, ' thy brutal breast, 
 To wrong Pirithous, and not him alone, 
 But, while I live, two friends conjoined in 
 one ? ' " 
 
 125. Judges vii. 5, 6: "So he 
 brought down the people unto the 
 water: and the Lord said unto Gideon, 
 Every one that lappeth of the water 
 with his tongue, as a dog lappeth, him 
 shalt thou set by himself ; likewise 
 every one that boweth down upon his 
 knees to drink. And the number of 
 them that lapped, putting their hand 
 to their mouth, were three hundred 
 men ; but all the rest of the people 
 bowed down upon their knees to drink 
 water." 
 
 139. The Angel of the Seventh 
 Circle. 
 
 CANTO XXV. 
 
 1. The ascent to the Seventh Cir- 
 cle of Purgatory, where the sin of Lust 
 is punished. 
 
 3. When the sign of Taurus reached 
 the meridian, the sun, being in Aries, 
 would be two hours beyond it. It is 
 now two o'clock of the afternoon. 
 The Scorpion is the sign opposite 
 Taurus. 
 
 15. Shakespeare, Hamlet, I. 2 : — 
 
 " And did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak." 
 
 22. Meleager was the son of CEneus 
 and Althasa, of Calydon. At his birth 
 the Fates were present and predicted 
 his future greatness. Clotho said that 
 he would be brave ; Lachesis, that he 
 would be strong ; and Atropos, that 
 he would live as long as the brand 
 upon the fire remained unconsumed. 
 
Purgatorio xxv. 
 
 327 
 
 Ovid, Met. VIII. : -. 
 
 " There lay a log unlighted on the hearth, 
 When she was laboring in the throes of birth 
 For th' unborn chief; the fatal sisters came, 
 And raised it up, and tossed it on the flame 
 Then on the rock a scanty measure place 
 Of vital flax, and turned the wheel apace ; 
 And turning sung, 'To this red brand and 
 
 thee, 
 O new-born babe, we give an equal destiny " ; 
 So vanished out of view. The frighted dame 
 Sprung hasty from her bed, and quenched the 
 
 flame. 
 The log, in secret locked, she kept with care, 
 And that, while thus preserved, preserved her 
 
 heir." 
 
 Meleager distinguished himself in 
 the Argonautic expedition, and after- 
 wards in the hunt of Calydon, where 
 he killed the famous boar, and gave 
 the boar's head to Atalanta ; and when 
 his uncles tried to take possession of it, 
 he killed them also. On hearing this, 
 and seeing the dead bodies, his mother 
 in her rage threw the brand upon the 
 fire again, and, as it was consumed, 
 Meleager perished. 
 
 Mr. Swinburne, Atalanta in Caly- 
 don : — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " When thou dravest the men 
 Of the chosen of Thrace, 
 None turned him again 
 Nor endured he thy face 
 Clothed round with the blush of the battle, with 
 light from a terrible place. 
 
 CENEUS. 
 
 " Thou shouldst die as he dies 
 
 For whom none sheddeth tears ; 
 Filling thine eyes 
 
 And fulfilling thine ears 
 With the brilliance of battle, the bloom and the 
 beauty, the splendor of spears. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " In the ears of the world 
 It is sung, it is told, 
 And the light thereof hurled 
 And the noise thereof rolled 
 From the Acroceraunian snow to the ford of 
 the fleece of gold. 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 " Would God ye could carry me 
 Forth of all these ; 
 Heap sand and bury me 
 By the Chersonese 
 Where the thundering Bosphorus answers the 
 thunder of Pontic seas. 
 
 CENEUS. 
 
 " Dost thou mock at our praise 
 
 And the singing begun 
 
 And the men of strange days 
 
 Praising my son 
 
 In the folds of the hills of home, high places 
 
 of Calydon ? 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 " For the dead man no home is ; 
 Ah, better to be 
 What the flower of the foam is 
 In fields of the sea, 
 That the sea-waves might be as my raiment, 
 the gulf-stream a garment for me. 
 
 " Mother, I dying with unforgetful tongue 
 Hail thee as holy and worship thee as just 
 Who art unjust and unholy ; and with my 
 
 knees 
 Would worship, but thy fire and subtlety, 
 Dissundering them, devour me ; for these limbs 
 Are as light dust and crumblings from mine urn 
 Before the fire has touched them ; and my face 
 As a dead leaf or dead foot's mark on snow, 
 And all this body a broken barren tree 
 That was so strong, and all this flower of life 
 Disbranched and desecrated miserably, 
 And minished all that god-like muscle and 
 
 might 
 And lesser than a man's : for all my veins 
 Fail me, and all mine ashen 
 
 down." 
 
328 
 
 Notes 
 
 37. The dissertation which Dante 
 here puts into the mouth of Statius may- 
 be found also in a briefer prose form 
 in the Convito, IV. 21. It so much 
 excites the enthusiasm of Varchi, that 
 he declares it alone sufficient to prove 
 Dante to have been a physician, phi- 
 losopher, and theologian of the highest 
 order ; and goes on to say : " I not 
 only confess, but I swear, that as many 
 times as I have read it, which day and 
 night are more than a thousand, my 
 wonder and astonishment have always 
 increased, seeming every time to find 
 therein new beauties and new instruc- 
 tion, and consequently new difficul- 
 ties." 
 
 This subject is also discussed in part 
 by Thomas Aquinas, Sum. Tbeol., I. 
 Quasst. cxix., De propagatione hominis 
 quantum ad corpus. 
 
 Milton, in his Latin poem, De Idea 
 Platonica, has touched upon a theme 
 somewhat akin to this, but in a manner 
 to make it seem very remote. Perhaps 
 no two passages could better show the 
 difference between Dante and Milton, 
 than this canto and P/ato's Archetypal 
 Man, which in Leigh Hunt's trans- 
 lation runs as follows : — 
 
 "Say, guardian goddesses of woods, 
 Aspects, felt in solitudes ; 
 And Memory, at whose blessed knee 
 The Nine, which thy dear daughters be, 
 Learnt of the majestic past ; 
 And thou, that in some antre vast 
 Leaning afar off dost lie, 
 Otiose Eternity, 
 
 Keeping the tablets and decrees 
 Of Jove, and the ephemerides 
 Of the gods, and calendars, 
 
 Of the ever festal stars ; 
 
 Say, who was he, the sunless shade, 
 
 After whose pattern man was made j 
 
 He first, the full of ages, born 
 
 With the old pale polar morn, 
 
 Sole, yet all ; first visible thought, 
 
 After which the Deity wrought ? 
 
 Twin-birth with Pallas, not remain 
 
 Doth he in Jove's o'ershadowed brain; 
 
 But though of wide communion, 
 
 Dwells apart, like one alone ; 
 
 And fills the wondering embrace, 
 
 (Doubt it not) of size and place. 
 
 Whether, companion of the stars, 
 
 With their tenfold round he errs ; 
 
 Or inhabits with his lone 
 
 Nature in the neighboring moon ; 
 
 Or sits with body-waiting souls, 
 
 Dozing by the Lethjean pools : — 
 
 Or whether, haply, placed afar 
 
 In some blank region of our star, 
 
 He stalks, an unsubstantial heap, 
 
 Humanity's giant archetype ; 
 
 Where a loftier bulk he rears 
 
 Than Atlas, grappler of the stars, 
 
 And through their shadow-touched abodes 
 
 Brings a terror to the gods. 
 
 Not the seer of him had sight, 
 
 Who found in darkness depths of light; * 
 
 His travelled eyeballs saw him not 
 
 In all his mighty gulfs of thought : — 
 
 Him the farthest-footed good, 
 
 Pleiad Mercury, never showed 
 
 To any poet's wisest sight 
 
 In the silence of the night : — 
 
 News of him the Assyrian priest f 
 
 Found not in his sacred list, 
 
 Though he traced back old king Nine, 
 
 And Belus, elder name divine, 
 
 And Osiris, endless famed. 
 
 Not the glory, triple-named, 
 
 Thrice great Hermes, though his eyes 
 
 Read the shapes of all the skies, 
 
 Left him in his sacred verse 
 
 Revealed to Nature's worshippers. 
 
 * Tiresias, who was blind. f Sanchoniathon. 
 
Purgatorio xxv. 
 
 329 
 
 " O Plato ! and was this a dream 
 Of thine in bowery Academe ? 
 Wert thou the golden tongue to tell 
 First of this high miracle, 
 And charm him to thy schools below? 
 O call thy poets back, if so,* 
 Back to the state thine exiles call, 
 Thou greatest fabler of them all ; 
 Or follow through the self-same gate, 
 Thou, the founder of the state." 
 
 48. The heart, where the blood 
 takes the "virtue informative," as stated 
 in line 40. 
 
 52. The vegetative soul, which in 
 man differs from that in plants, as be- 
 ing in a state of development, while 
 that of plants is complete already. 
 
 55. The vegetative becomes a sen- 
 sitive soul. 
 
 65. " This was the opinion of Aver- 
 roes," says the Ottimo, "which is false, 
 and contrary to the Catholic faith." 
 
 In the language of the Schools, the 
 Possible Intellect, intellectus possibilis, 
 is the faculty which receives impres- 
 sions through the senses, and forms 
 from them pictures or pbantasmata in 
 the mind. The Active Intellect, in- 
 tellectus agens, draws from these pic- 
 tures various ideas, notions, and con- 
 clusions. They represent the Under- 
 standing and the Reason. 
 
 70. God. 
 
 75. Redi, Bacchus in Tuscany: — 
 
 " Such bright blood is a ray enkindled 
 Of that sun, in heaven that shines, 
 And has been left behind entangled 
 And caught in the net of the many vines." 
 
 79. When Lachesis has spun out 
 the thread of life. 
 
 * Whom Plato banished from his imaginary 
 republic. 
 
 VOL. II. 42 
 
 8l. Thomas Aquinas, Sum. TbeoL y 
 I. Quaest. cxviii. Art. 3 : "Anima in- 
 tellectiva remanet destructo corpore." 
 
 86. Either upon the shores of Ache- 
 ron or of the Tiber. 
 
 103. jEneid, VI. 723, Davidson's 
 Tr. : — 
 
 " In the first place, the spirit with- 
 in nourishes the heavens, the earth, 
 and watery plains, the moon's enlight- 
 ened orb, and the Titanian stars ; and 
 the mind, diffused through all the mem- 
 bers, actuates the whole frame, and 
 mingles with the vast body of the uni- 
 verse. Thence the race of men and 
 beasts, the vital principles of the flying 
 kind, and the monsters which the ocean 
 breeds under its smooth plain. These 
 principles have the active force of fire, 
 and are of a heavenly original, so far as 
 they are not clogged by noxious bodies, 
 blunted by earth-born limbs and dying 
 members. Hence they fear and de- 
 sire, grieve and rejoice ; and, shut up 
 in darkness and a gloomy prison, lose 
 sight of their native skies. Even when 
 with the last beams of light their life 
 is gone, yet not every ill, nor all cor- 
 poreal stains, are quite removed from 
 the unhappy beings; and it is absolute- 
 ly necessary that many imperfections 
 which have long been joined to the 
 soul should be in marvellous ways in- 
 creased and riveted therein. There- 
 fore are they afflicted with punish- 
 ments, and pay the penalties of their 
 former ills. Some, hung on high, are 
 spread out to the empty winds ; in 
 others, the guilt not done away is 
 washed out in a vast watery abyss, or 
 
330 
 
 Notes 
 
 burned away in fire. We each endure 
 his own manes, thence are we conveyed 
 along the spacious Elysium, and we, 
 the happy few, possess the fields of 
 bliss ; till length of time, after the 
 fixed period is elapsed, hath done 
 away the inherent stain, and hath left 
 the pure celestial reason, and the fiery 
 energy of the simple spirit." 
 
 121. " God of clemency supreme " ; 
 the church hymn, sung at matins on 
 Saturday morning, and containing a 
 prayer for purity. 
 
 128. Luke i. 34: "Then said Mary 
 unto the angel, How shall this be, see- 
 ing I know not a man ? " 
 
 131. Helice, or Callisto, was a daugh- 
 ter of Lycaon, king of Arcadia. She 
 was one of the attendant nymphs of 
 Diana, who discarded her on account 
 of an amour with Jupiter, for which 
 Juno turned her into a bear. Areas 
 was the offspring of this amour. Jupi- 
 ter changed them to the constellations 
 of the Great and Little Bear. 
 
 Ovid, Met. II., Addison's Tr. : — 
 
 " But now her son had fifteen summers told, 
 Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold ; 
 When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey, 
 He chanced to rouse his mother where she 
 
 lay. 
 She knew her son, and kept him in her sight, 
 And fondly gazed : the boy was in a fright, 
 And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast, 
 And would have slain his mother in the beast ; 
 But Jove forbad, and snatched them through 
 
 the air 
 In whirlwinds up to Heaven, and fixed them 
 
 there ; 
 Where the new constellations nightly rise, 
 And add a lustre to the Northern skies. 
 
 " When Juno saw the rival in her height, 
 Spangled with stars, and circled round with 
 
 light, 
 She sought old Ocean in his deep abodes, 
 And Tethys, both revered among the gods. 
 They ask what brings her there : ' Ne'er ask,- 
 
 says she, 
 * What brings me here ; Heaven is no place 
 
 for me. 
 You '11 see, when Night has covered all things 
 
 o'er, 
 Jove's starry bastard and triumphant whore 
 Usurp the heavens ; you '11 see them proudly 
 
 roll 
 In their new orbs, and brighten all the pole." 
 
 CANTO XXVI. 
 
 1. The punishment of the sin of 
 Lust. 
 
 5. It is near sunset, and the western 
 sky is white, as the sky always is in the 
 neighborhood of the sun. 
 
 12. A ghostly or spiritual body. 
 
 41. Pasiphae, wife of Minos, king 
 of Crete, and mother of the Mino- 
 
 taur. Virgil, Eclogue VI. 45, David- 
 son's Tr. : — 
 
 " And he soothes Pasiphae in her 
 passion for the snow-white bull : happy 
 woman if herds had never been ! Ah, 
 ill-fated maid, what madness seized 
 thee ? The daughters of Prcetus with 
 imaginary lowings filled the fields ; yet 
 
Purgatorzo xxvi. 
 
 33i 
 
 none of them pursued such vile em- 
 braces of a beast, however they might 
 dread the plough about their necks, 
 and often feel for horns on their 
 smooth foreheads. Ah, ill-fated maid, 
 thou now art roaming on the moun- 
 tains ! He, resting his snowy side 
 on the soft hyacinth, ruminates the 
 blenched herbs under some gloomy 
 oak, or courts some female in the nu- 
 merous herd." 
 
 43. The Riphaean mountains are in 
 the north of Russia. The sands are 
 the sands of the deserts. 
 
 59. Beatrice. 
 
 62. The highest heaven. Par. 
 XXVII. 
 
 78. In one of Caesar's triumphs the 
 Roman soldiery around his chariot 
 called him " Queen " ; thus reviling 
 him for his youthful debaucheries with 
 Nicomedes, king of Bithynia. 
 
 87. The cow made by Daedalus. 
 
 92. Guido Guinicelli, the best of 
 the Italian poets before Dante, flour- 
 ished in the first half of the thirteenth 
 century. He was a native of Bologna, 
 but of his life nothing is known. His 
 most celebrated poem is a Canzone on 
 the Nature of Love, which goes far to 
 justify the warmth and tenderness of 
 Dante's praise. Rossetti, Early Italian 
 Poets, p. 24, gives the following ver- 
 sion of it, under the title of The Gentle 
 Heart : — 
 
 " Within the gentle heart Love shelters him, 
 As birds within the green shade of the 
 grove. 
 
 Before the gentle heart, in Nature's scheme, 
 Love was not, nor the gentle heart ere 
 Love. 
 
 For with the sun, at once, 
 So sprang the light immediately ; nor was 
 
 Its birth before the sun's. 
 And Love hath his effect in gentleness 
 
 Of very self; even as 
 Within the middle fire the heat's excess. 
 
 " The fire of Love comes to the gentle heart 
 Like as its virtue to a precious stone ; 
 To which no star its influence can impart 
 Till it is made a pure thing by the sun : 
 For when the sun hath smit 
 From out its essence that which there was 
 vile, 
 The star endoweth it. 
 And so the heart created by God's breath 
 
 Pure, true, and clean from guile, 
 A woman, like a star, enamoreth. 
 
 " In gentle heart Love for like reason is 
 
 For which the lamp's high flame is fanned 
 and bowed : 
 Clear, piercing bright, it shines for its own 
 bliss ; 
 Nor would it burn there else, it is so proud. 
 For evil natures meet 
 With Love as it were water met with fire, 
 
 As cold abhorring heat. 
 Through gentle heart Love doth a track 
 divine, — 
 Like knowing like ; the same 
 As diamond runs through iron in the mine. 
 
 "The sun strikes full upon the mud all day; 
 It remains vile, nor the sun's worth is 
 less. 
 ' By race I am gentle,' the proud man doth 
 say : 
 He is the mud, the sun is gentleness. 
 Let no man predicate 
 That aught the name of gentleness should 
 have, 
 Even in a king's estate, 
 Except the heart there be a gentle man's. 
 The star-beam lights the wave, — 
 Heaven holds the star and the star's radi- 
 ance. 
 
332 
 
 Notes 
 
 " God, in the understanding of high Heaven, 
 Burns more than in our sight the living sun : 
 There to behold His Face unveiled is given; 
 And Heaven, whose will is homage paid 
 to One, 
 Fulfils the things which live 
 In God, from the beginning excellent. 
 
 So should my lady give 
 That truth which in her eyes is glorified, 
 
 On which her heart is bent, 
 To me whose service waiteth at her side. 
 
 " My lady, God shall ask, * What daredst 
 thou ? ' 
 (When my soul stands with all her acts 
 reviewed ;) 
 * Thou passedst Heaven, into My sight, as 
 now, 
 To make Me of vain love similitude. 
 To Me doth praise belong, 
 And to the Queen of all the realm of grace 
 
 Who endeth fraud and wrong.' 
 Then may I plead : * As though from Thee 
 he came, 
 Love wore an angel's face : 
 Lord, if I loved her, count it not my shame.' " 
 
 94. Hypsipyle was discovered and 
 rescued by her sons Eumenius and Tho- 
 as, (whose father was the " bland Ja- 
 son," as Statius calls him,) just as King 
 Lycurgus in his great grief was about to 
 put her to death for neglecting the care 
 of his child, who through her neglect 
 had been stung by a serpent. 
 
 Statius, Thebaid, V. 949, says it was 
 Tydeus who saved Hysipyle : — 
 
 " But interposing Tydeus rushed between, 
 And with his shield protects the Lemnian 
 queen." 
 
 118. In the old Romance languages 
 the name of prosa was applied gener- 
 ally to all narrative poems, and partic- 
 ularly to the monorhythmic romances. 
 
 Thus Gonzalo de Berceo, a Spanish 
 poet of the thirteenth century, begins 
 a poem on the Vida del Glorioso Con- 
 fessor Santo Domingo de Silos : — 
 
 " De un confessor Sancto quiero fer una prosa, 
 Quiero fer una prosa en roman paladino, 
 En qual suele el pueblo fablar a su vecino, 
 Ca non so tan letrado per fer otro Latino." 
 
 120. Gerault de Berneil of Limoges, 
 born of poor parents, but a man of 
 talent and learning, was one of the 
 most famous Troubadours of the thir- 
 teenth century. The old Provencal bi- 
 ographer, quoted by Raynouard, Cboix 
 de Poesies, V. 166, says : " He was a 
 better poet than any who preceded or 
 followed him, and was therefore called 
 
 the Master of the Troubadours 
 
 He passed his winters in study, and his 
 summers in wandering from court to 
 court with two minstrels who sang his 
 songs." 
 
 The following specimen of his po- 
 ems is from [Taylor's] Lays of the 
 Minnesingers and Troubadours, p. 247. 
 It is an Aubade, or song of the morn- 
 ing : — 
 
 " Companion dear ! or sleeping or awaking, 
 Sleep not again ! for lo ! the morn is nigh, 
 And in the east that early star is breaking, 
 The day's forerunner, known unto mine 
 eye; 
 The morn, the morn is near. 
 
 "Companion dear! with carols sweet I call 
 thee; 
 Sleep not again ! I hear the birds' blithe 
 song 
 Loud in the woodlands ; evil may befall 
 thee, 
 And jealous eyes awaken, tarrying long, 
 Now that the morn is near. 
 
Purgatorio xxvi. 
 
 333 
 
 " Companion dear ! forth from the window 
 looking, 
 Attentive mark the signs of yonder heaven ; 
 Judge if aright I read what they betoken : 
 Thine all the loss, if vain the warning given ; 
 The morn, the morn is near. 
 
 " Companion dear ! since thou from hence wert 
 straying, 
 Nor sleep nor rest these eyes have visited ; 
 My prayers unceasing to the Virgin paying, 
 That thou in peace thy backward way 
 might tread. 
 The morn, the morn is near. 
 
 " Companion dear ! hence to the fields with me ! 
 Me thou forbad'st to slumber through the 
 night, 
 And I have watched that livelong night for 
 thee ; 
 But thou in song or me hast no delight, 
 And now the morn is near. 
 
 Answer. 
 " Companion dear ! so happily sojourning, 
 So blest am I, I care not forth to speed : 
 Here brightest beauty reigns, her smiles 
 adorning 
 Her dwelling - place, — then wherefore 
 should I heed 
 The morn or jealous eyes ? " 
 
 According to Nostrodamus he died 
 in 1278. Notwithstanding his great 
 repute, Dante gives the palm of excel- 
 lence to Arnaud Daniel, his rival and 
 contemporary. But this is not the 
 general verdict of literary history. 
 
 124. Fra Guittone d' Arezzo. See 
 Canto XXIV. Note 56. 
 
 137. Venturi has the indiscretion 
 to say : " This is a disgusting compli- 
 ment after the manner of the French ; 
 in the Italian fashion we should say, 
 ' You will do me a favor, if you will 
 
 tell me your name.' " Whereupon 
 Biagioli thunders at him in this wise : 
 "Infamous dirty dog that you are, how 
 can you call this a compliment after 
 the manner of the French ? How can 
 you set off against it what any cobbler 
 might say ? Away ! and a murrain on 
 you ! " 
 
 142. Arnaud Daniel, the Trouba- 
 dour of the thirteenth century, whom 
 Dante lauds so highly, and whom Pe- 
 trarca calls " the Grand Master of 
 Love," wa6 born of a noble family at 
 the castle of Ribeyrac in Perigord. 
 Millot, Hist, des Troub., II. 479, says 
 of him : " In all ages there have been 
 false reputations, founded on some in- 
 dividual judgment, whose authority has 
 prevailed without examination, until at 
 last criticism discusses, the truth pene- 
 trates, and the phantom of prejudice 
 vanishes. Such has been the reputa- 
 tion of Arnaud Daniel." 
 
 Raynouard confirms this judgment, 
 and says that, "in reading the works of 
 this Troubadour, it is difficult to con- 
 ceive the causes of the great celebrity 
 he enjoyed during his life." 
 
 Arnaud Daniel was the inventor of 
 the Sestina, a song of six stanzas of six 
 lines each, with the same rhymes re- 
 peated in all, though arranged in dif- 
 ferent and intricate order, which must 
 be seen to be understood. He was 
 also author of the metrical romance of 
 Lancillotto, or Launcelot of the Lake, 
 to which Dante doubtless refers in his 
 expression prose di romanzi, or proses 
 of romance. The following anecdote 
 is from the old Provencal authority, 
 
334 
 
 Notes 
 
 quoted both by Millot and Raynouard, 
 and is thus translated by Miss Costello, 
 Early Poetry of France, p. 37 : — 
 
 "Arnaud visited the court of Rich- 
 ard Cceur de Lion in England, and en- 
 countered there a jongleur, who defied 
 him to a trial of skill, and boasted 
 of being able to make more difficult 
 rhymes than Arnaud, a proficiency on 
 which he chiefly prided himself. He 
 accepted the challenge, and the two 
 poets separated, and retired to their 
 respective chambers to prepare for the 
 contest. The Muse of Arnaud was 
 not propitious, and he vainly endeav- 
 ored to string two rhymes together. 
 His rival, on the other hand, quickly 
 caught the inspiration. The king had 
 allowed ten days as the term of prep- 
 aration, five for composition, and the 
 remainder for learning it by heart to 
 sing before the court. On the third 
 day the jongleur declared that he had 
 finished his poem, and was ready to 
 recite it, but Arnaud replied that he 
 had not yet thought of his. It was the 
 jongleur's custom to repeat his verses 
 out loud every day, in order to learn 
 them better, and Arnaud, who was in 
 vain endeavoring to devise some means 
 to save himself from the mockery of 
 the court at being outdone in this con- 
 test, happened to overhear the jongleur 
 singing. He went to his door and 
 listened, and succeeded in retaining the 
 words and the air. On the day ap- 
 pointed they both appeared before the 
 king. Arnaud desired to be allowed 
 to sing first, and immediately gave the 
 
 song which the jongleur had composed. 
 The latter, stupefied with astonish- 
 ment, could only exclaim : 'It is my 
 song, it is my song.' ' Impossible ! ' 
 cried the king ; but the jongleur, per- 
 sisting, requested Richard to interro- 
 gate Arnaud, who would not dare, he 
 said, to deny it. Daniel confessed the 
 fact, and related the manner in which 
 the affair had been conducted, which 
 amused Richard far more than the song 
 itself. The stakes of the wager were 
 restored to each, and the king loaded 
 them both with presents." 
 
 According to Nostrodamus, Arnaud 
 died about 11 89. There is no other 
 reason for making him speak in Pro- 
 vencal than the evident delight which 
 Dante took in the sound of the words, 
 and the peculiar flavor they give to the 
 close of the canto. Raynouard says 
 that the writings of none of the Trou- 
 badours have been so disfigured by cop- 
 yists as those of Arnaud. This would 
 seem to be true of the very lines which 
 Dante writes for him; as there are at 
 least seven different readings of them. 
 
 Here Venturi has again the indiscre- 
 tion to say that Arnaud answers Dante 
 in "a kind of lingua-franc a, part Pro- 
 vencal and part Catalan, joining togeth- 
 er the perfidious French with the vile 
 Spanish, perhaps to show that Arnaud 
 was a clever speaker of the two." 
 And again Biagioli suppresses him with 
 " that unbridled beast of a Venturi," 
 and this " most potent argument of his 
 presumptuous ignorance and imperti- 
 nence." 
 
Purgatorio xxvu. 
 
 335 
 
 CANTO XXVII. 
 
 1. The description of the Seventh 
 and last Circle continued. 
 
 Cowley, Hymn to Light : — 
 " Say from what golden quivers of the sky 
 Do all thy winged arrows fly ? " 
 
 2. When the sun is rising at Jerusa- 
 lem, it is setting on the Mountain of 
 Purgatory ; it is midnight in Spain, 
 with Libra in the meridian, and noon 
 in India. 
 
 " A great labyrinth of words and 
 things," says Venturi, " meaning only 
 that the sun was setting ! " and this 
 time the " do Ice pedagogo " Biagioli lets 
 him escape without the usual reprimand. 
 
 8. Matthew v. 8: "Blessed are the 
 pure in heart, for they shall see God." 
 
 1 6. With the hands clasped and 
 turned palm downwards, and the body 
 straightened backward in attitude of 
 resistance. 
 
 23. Inf. XVII. 
 
 33. Knowing that he ought to con- 
 fide in Virgil and go forward. 
 
 37. The story of the Babylonian 
 lovers, whose trysting-place was under 
 the white mulberry-tree near the tomb 
 of Ninus, and whose blood changed 
 the fruit from white to purple, is too 
 well known to need comment. Ovid, 
 Met. IV., Eusden's Tr. : — 
 
 " At Thisbe's name awaked, he opened wide 
 His dying eyes ; with dying eyes he tried 
 On her to dwell, but closed them slow and 
 died." 
 
 48. Statius had for a long while 
 been between Virgil and Dante. 
 
 58. Matthew xxv. 34: "Then shall 
 the king say unto them on his right 
 hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, 
 inherit the kingdom prepared for you 
 from the foundation of the world." 
 
 70. Dr. Furness's Hymn : — 
 
 " Slowly by God's hand unfurled, 
 Down around the weary world 
 Falls the darkness." 
 
 90. Evening of the Third Day of 
 Purgatory. Milton, Par ad. Lost, IV. 
 598: — 
 
 " Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray 
 Had in her sober livery all things clad : 
 Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, 
 They to their grassy couch, these to their 
 
 nests 
 Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; 
 She all night long her amorous descant sung; 
 Silence was pleased : now glowed the firma- 
 ment 
 With living sapphires : Hesperus, that led 
 The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 
 Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 
 Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, 
 And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw." 
 
 93. The vision which Dante sees is 
 a foreshadowing of Matilda and Bea- 
 trice in the Terrestrial Paradise. In 
 the Old Testament Leah is a symbol 
 of the Active life, and Rachel of the 
 Contemplative ; as Martha and Mary 
 are in the New Testament, and Ma- 
 tilda and Beatrice in the Divine Com- 
 edy. " Happy is that house," says 
 Saint Bernard, " and blessed is that 
 congregation, where Martha still com- 
 plained! of Mary." 
 
336 
 
 Notes 
 
 Dante says in the Convito, IV. 17 : 
 " Truly it should be known that we 
 can have in this life two felicities, by 
 following two different and excellent 
 roads, which lead thereto; namely, the 
 Active life and the Contemplative." 
 
 And Owen Feltham in his Re- 
 solves : — 
 
 " The mind can walk beyond the 
 sight of the eye, and, though in a 
 cloud, can lift us into heaven while 
 we live. Meditation is the soul's per- 
 spective glass, whereby, in her long 
 remove, she discerneth God as if he 
 were nearer hand. I persuade no man 
 to make it his whole life's business. 
 We have bodies as well as souls. And 
 even this world, while we are in it, 
 ought somewhat to be cared for. As 
 those states are likely to flourish, where 
 execution follows sound advisements, 
 so is man, when contemplation is sec- 
 onded by action. Contemplation gen- 
 erates ; action propagates. Without 
 the first, the latter is defective. With- 
 out the last, the first is but abortive 
 and embryous. Saint Bernard com- 
 pares contemplation to Rachel, which 
 was the more fair; but action to Leah, 
 which was the more fruitful. I will 
 neither always be busy and doing, nor 
 ever shut up in nothing but thoughts. 
 Yet that which some would call idle- 
 ness, I will call the sweetest part of 
 my life, and that is, my thinking." 
 
 95. Venus, the morning star, rising 
 
 with the constellation Pisces, two hours 
 before the sun. 
 
 100. Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 221 : 
 " This vision of Rachel and Leah has 
 been always, and with unquestionable 
 truth, received as a type of the Ac- 
 tive and Contemplative life, and as an 
 introduction to the two divisions of 
 the Paradise which Dante is about to 
 enter. Therefore the unwearied spirit 
 of the Countess Matilda is understood to 
 represent the Active life, which forms 
 the felicity of Earth ; and the spirit of 
 Beatrice the Contemplative life, which 
 forms the felicity of Heaven. This 
 interpretation appears at first straight- 
 forward and certain ; but it has missed 
 count of exactly the most important 
 fact in the two passages which we have 
 to explain. Observe : Leah gathers 
 the flowers to decorate herself, and de- 
 lights in ber own Labor. Rachel sits 
 silent, contemplating herself, and de- 
 lights in her own Image. These are 
 the types of the Unglorified Active and 
 Contemplative powers of Man. But 
 Beatrice and Matilda are the same 
 powers, glorified. And how are they 
 glorified ? Leah took delight in her 
 own labor ; but Matilda, in operibus 
 manuum Tuarum, — in God's labor : 
 Rachel, in the sight of her own face ; 
 Beatrice, in the sight of God's face." 
 
 112. The morning of the Fourth 
 Day of Purgatory. 
 
 115. Happiness. 
 
Purgatorio xxviu. 
 
 337 
 
 CANTO XXVIII. 
 
 I. The Terrestrial Paradise. Com- 
 pare Milton, Parad. Lost, IV. 214 : — 
 
 " In this pleasant soil 
 His far more pleasant garden God ordained : 
 Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow 
 All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; 
 And all amid them stood the Tree of Life, 
 High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit 
 Of vegetable gold ; and next to Life, 
 Our death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast by, 
 Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ill. 
 Southward through Eden went a river large, 
 Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy 
 
 hill 
 Passed underneath ingulfed ; for God had thrown 
 That mountain as his garden mould, high raised 
 Upon the rapid current, which through veins 
 Of porous earth with kindly thirst up drawn, 
 Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill 
 Watered the garden ; thence united fell 
 Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, 
 Which from his darksome passage now appears ; 
 And now, divided into four main streams, 
 Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm 
 And country, whereof here needs no account; 
 But rather to tell how, if art could tell, 
 How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, 
 Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, 
 With mazy error under pendent shades 
 Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed 
 Flowers worthy of Paradise ; which not nice art 
 In beds and curious knots, but nature boon 
 Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain; 
 Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
 The open field, and where the unpierced shade 
 Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was 
 
 this place 
 A happy rural seat of various view : 
 Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and 
 
 balm ; 
 Others, whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, 
 Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, 
 
 vol. 11. 43 
 
 If true, here only, and of delicious taste. 
 Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks 
 Grazing the tender herb, were interposed ; 
 Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap 
 Of some irriguous valley spread her store ; 
 Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the 
 
 rose. 
 Another side, umbrageous grots and caves 
 Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine 
 Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps 
 Luxuriant : meanwhile murmuring waters fall 
 Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, 
 That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned 
 Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. 
 The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, 
 Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 
 The trembling leaves ; while universal Pan, 
 Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, 
 Led on the eternal spring." 
 
 2. Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 219: 
 " As Homer gave us an ideal land- 
 scape, which even a god might have 
 been pleased to behold, so Dante gives 
 us, fortunately, an ideal landscape, 
 which is specially intended for the 
 terrestrial paradise. And it will doubt- 
 less be with some surprise, after our 
 reflections above on the general tone 
 of Dante's feelings, that we find our- 
 selves here first entering a forest, and 
 that even a thick forest 
 
 " This forest, then, is very like that 
 of Colonos in several respects, — in its 
 peace and sweetness, and number of 
 birds ; it differs from it only in letting 
 a light breeze through it, being there- 
 fore somewhat thinner than the Greek 
 wood ; the tender lines which tell of 
 the voices of the birds mingling with 
 
338 
 
 Notes 
 
 the wind, and of the leaves all turning 
 one way before it, have been more or 
 less copied by every poet since Dante's 
 time. They are, so far as I know, the 
 sweetest passage of wood description 
 which exists in literature." 
 
 Homer's ideal landscape, here re- 
 ferred to, is in Odyssey V., where he 
 describes the visit of Mercury to the 
 Island of Calypso. It is thus trans- 
 lated by Buckley : — 
 
 " Immediately then he bound his 
 beautiful sandals beneath his feet, am- 
 brosial, golden ; which carried him 
 both over the moist wave, and over 
 the boundless earth, with the breath 
 
 of the wind Then he rushed 
 
 over the wave like a bird, a sea-gull, 
 which, hunting for fish in the terrible 
 bays of the barren sea, dips frequently 
 its wings in the brine ; like unto this 
 Mercury rode over many waves. But 
 when he came to the distant island, 
 then, going from the blue sea, he went 
 to the continent ; until he came to the 
 great cave in which the fair-haired 
 Nymph dwelt ; and he found her 
 within. A large fire was burning on 
 the hearth, and at a distance the smell 
 of well-cleft cedar, and of frankincense, 
 that were burning, shed odor through 
 the island : but she within was singing 
 with a beautiful voice, and, going over 
 the web, wove with a golden shuttle. 
 But a flourishing wood sprung up 
 around her grot, alder and poplar, 
 and sweet-smelling cypress. There 
 also birds with spreading wings slept, 
 owls and hawks, and wide - tongued 
 crows of the ocean, to which maritime 
 
 employments are a care. There a 
 vine in its prime was spread about 
 the hollow grot, and it flourished with 
 clusters. But four fountains flowed in 
 succession with white water, turned 
 near one another, each in different 
 ways ; but around there flourished soft 
 meadows of violets and of parsley. 
 There indeed even an immortal com- 
 ing would admire it when he beheld, 
 and would be delighted in his mind ; 
 there the messenger, the slayer of Ar- 
 gus, standing, admired." 
 
 And again, at the close of the same 
 book, where Ulysses reaches the shore 
 at Phasacia : — 
 
 " Then he hastened to the wood ; 
 and found it near the water in a con- 
 spicuous place, and he came under 
 two shrubs, which sprang from the 
 same place ; one of wild olive, the 
 other of olive. Neither the strength 
 of the moistly blowing winds breathes 
 through them, nor has the shining sun 
 ever struck them with its beams, nor 
 has the shower penetrated entirely 
 through them : so thick were they 
 grown entangled with one another ; 
 under which Ulysses came." 
 
 The wood of Colonos is thus de- 
 scribed in one of the Choruses of the 
 (Edipus Coloneus of Sophocles, Oxford 
 Tr., Anon. : — 
 
 " Thou hast come, O stranger, to 
 the seats of this land, renowned for 
 the steed ; to seats the fairest on earth, 
 the chalky Colonus ; where the vo- 
 cal nightingale, chief abounding, trills 
 her plaintive note in the green vales, 
 tenanting the dark-hued ivy and the 
 
Purgatorio xxvm. 
 
 339 
 
 leafy grove of the god, untrodden [by 
 mortal foot], teeming with fruits, im- 
 pervious to the sun, and unshaken by 
 the winds of every storm ; where Bac- 
 chus ever roams in revelry companion- 
 ing his divine nurses. And ever day 
 by day the narcissus, with its beaute- 
 ous clusters, burst into bloom by heav- 
 en's dew, the ancient coronet of the 
 mighty goddesses, and the saffron with 
 golden ray; nor do the sleepless founts 
 that feed the channels of Cephissus fail, 
 but ever, each day, it rushes o'er the 
 plains with its stainless wave, fertiliz- 
 ing the bosom of the earth ; nor have 
 the choirs of the Muses spurned this 
 clime ; nor Venus, too, of the golden 
 rein. And there is a tree, such as I 
 hear not to have ever sprung in the 
 land of Asia, nor in the mighty Doric 
 island of Pelops, a tree unplanted by 
 hand, of spontaneous growth, terror 
 of the hostile spear, which flourishes 
 chiefly in this region, the leaf of the 
 azure olive that nourishes our young. 
 This shall neither any one in youth 
 nor in old age, marking for destruc- 
 tion, and having laid it waste with his 
 hand, set its divinity at naught ; for 
 the eye that never closes of Morian 
 Jove regards it, and the blue-eyed Mi- 
 nerva." 
 
 We have also Homer's description 
 of the Garden of Alcinoiis, Odyssey, 
 VII., Buckley's Tr. : — 
 
 " But without the hall there is a 
 large garden, near the gates, of four 
 acres ; but around it a hedge was ex- 
 tended on both sides. And there tall, 
 flourishing trees grew, pears, and pome- 
 
 granates, and apple - trees producing 
 beautiful fruit, and sweet figs, and flour- 
 ishing olives. Of these the fruit never 
 perishes, nor does it fail in winter or 
 summer, lasting throughout the whole 
 year ; but the west wind ever blowing 
 makes some bud forth, and ripens 
 others. Pear grows old after pear, 
 apple after apple, grape also after 
 grape, and fig after fig. There a fruit- 
 ful vineyard was planted : one part of 
 this ground, exposed to the sun in a 
 wide place, is dried by the sun ; and 
 some [grapes] they are gathering, and 
 others they are treading, and further 
 on are unripe grapes, having thrown 
 off the flower, and others are slightly 
 changing color. And there are all 
 kinds of beds laid out in order, to the 
 furthest part of the ground, flourishing 
 throughout the whole year : and in it 
 are two fountains, one is spread through 
 the whole garden, but the other on the 
 other side goes under the threshold 
 of the hall to the lofty house, from 
 whence the citizens are wont to draw 
 water." 
 
 Dante's description of the Terres- 
 trial Paradise will hardly fail to re- 
 call that of Mount Acidale in Spenser's 
 Faerie ^ueene, VI. x. 6 : — 
 
 " It was an Hill plaste in an open plaine, 
 That round about was bordered with a 
 
 wood 
 Of matchlesse hight, that seemed th' earth 
 
 to disdaine ; 
 In which all trees of honour stately stood, 
 And did all winter as in sommer bud, 
 Spredding pavilions for the birds to bowre, 
 Which in their lower braunches sung 
 
 aloud 5 
 
340 
 
 Notes 
 
 And in their tops the soring hauke did 
 towre, 
 Sitting like king of fowles in maiesty and 
 powre. 
 
 " And at the foote thereof a gentle flud 
 •His silver waves did softly tumble downe, 
 Unmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud ; 
 Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder 
 
 clowne, 
 Thereto approch ; ne filth mote therein 
 
 drowne : 
 But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks 
 
 did sit 
 In the woods shade which did the waters 
 
 crowne, 
 Keeping all noysome things away from it, 
 And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit. 
 
 "And on the top thereof a spacious plairte 
 Did spred itselfe, to serve to all delight, 
 Either to daunce, when they to daunce would 
 
 faine, 
 Or else to course-about their bases light ; 
 Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure 
 
 might 
 Desired be, or thence to banish bale : 
 So pleasauntly the Hill with equall hight 
 Did seeme to overlooke the lowly vale ; 
 Therefore it rightly cleeped was Mount Aci- 
 
 dale." 
 
 See also Tasso's Garden of Armida, 
 in the Gerusalemme, XVI. 
 
 20. Chiassi is on the sea-shore near 
 Ravenna. " Here grows a spacious 
 pine forest," says Covino, Descr. Geog., 
 p. 39, " which stretches along the sea 
 between Ravenna and Cervia." 
 
 25. The river Lethe. 
 
 40. This lady, who represents the 
 Active life to Dante's waking eyes, as 
 Leah had done in his vision, and whom 
 Dante afterwards, Canto XXXIII. 119, 
 calls Matilda, is generally supposed by 
 
 the commentators to be the celebrated 
 Countess Matilda, daughter of Boni- 
 face, Count of Tuscany, and wife "of 
 Guelf, of the house of Suabia. Of 
 this marriage Villani, IV. 21, gives a 
 very strange account, which, if true, is 
 a singular picture of the times. Na- 
 pier, Flor. Hist., I. Ch. 4 and 6, gives 
 these glimpses of the Countess : — 
 
 "This heroine died in 11 15, after 
 a reign of active exertion for herself 
 and the Church against the Emperors, 
 which generated the infant and as yet 
 nameless factions of Guelf and Ghib- 
 elline. Matilda endured this contest 
 with all the enthusiasm and constancy 
 of a woman, combined with a manly 
 courage that must ever render her name 
 respectable, whether proceeding from 
 the bigotry of the age, or to oppose 
 imperial ambition in defence of her 
 own defective title. According to the 
 laws of that time, she could not as a 
 female inherit her father's states, for 
 even male heirs required a royal con- 
 firmation. Matilda therefore, having 
 no legal right, feared the Emperor 
 and clung to the Popes, who already 
 claimed, among other prerogatives, the 
 supreme disposal of kingdoms 
 
 " The Church had ever come for- 
 ward as the friend of her house, and 
 from childhood she had breathed an 
 atmosphere of blind and devoted sub- 
 mission to its authority ; even when 
 only fifteen she had appeared in arms 
 against its enemies, and made two suc- 
 cessful expeditions to assist Pope Alex- 
 ander the Second during her mother's 
 lifetime. 
 
Purgatorio xxrin. 
 
 34* 
 
 " No wonder, then, that in a super- 
 stitious age, when monarchs trembled 
 at an angry voice from the Lateran, 
 the habits of early youth should have 
 mingled with every action of Matilda's 
 life, and spread an agreeable mirage 
 over the prospect of her eternal salva- 
 tion : the power that tamed a Henry's 
 pride, a Barbarossa's fierceness, and 
 afterwards withstood the vast ability of 
 a Frederic, might without shame have 
 been reverenced by. a girl whose feel- 
 ings so harmonized with the sacred 
 strains of ancient tradition and priestly 
 dignity. But from whatever motive, 
 the result was a continual aggrandize- 
 ment of ecclesiastics; in prosperity and 
 adversity ; during life and after death ; 
 from the lowliest priest to the proudest 
 pontiff. 
 
 " The fearless assertion of her own 
 independence by successful struggles 
 with the Emperor was an example not 
 overlooked by the young Italian com- 
 munities under Matilda's rule, who 
 were already accused by imperial legit- 
 imacy of political innovation and vis- 
 ionary notions of government 
 
 " Being then at a place called Monte 
 Baroncione, and in her sixty-ninth year, 
 this celebrated woman breathed her 
 last, after a long and glorious reign of 
 incessant activity, during which she dis- 
 played a wisdom, vigor, and determi- 
 nation of character rarely seen even in 
 men. She bequeathed to the Church 
 all those patrimonial estates of which 
 she had previously disposed by an act 
 of gift to Gregory the Seventh, with- 
 out, however, any immediate royal 
 
 power over the cities and other posses- 
 sions thus given, as her will expresses 
 it, ' for the good of her soul, and the 
 souls of her parents.' 
 
 " Whatever may now be thought of 
 her chivalrous support, her bold defence, 
 and her deep devotion to the Church, it 
 was in perfect harmony with the spirit 
 of that age, and has formed one of her 
 chief merits with many even in the 
 present. Her unflinching adherence 
 to the cause she had so conscientiously 
 embraced was far more noble than the 
 Emperor Henry's conduct. Swinging 
 between the extremes of unmeasured 
 insolence and abject humiliation, he 
 died a victim to Papal influence over 
 superstitious minds ; an influence which, 
 amongst other debasing lessons, then 
 taught the world that a breach of the 
 most sacred ties and dearest affections 
 of human nature was one means of 
 gaining the approbation of a Being who 
 is all truth and beneficence. 
 
 " Matilda's object was to strengthen 
 the chief spiritual against the chief 
 temporal power, but reserving her 
 own independence ; a policy subse- 
 quently pursued, at least in spirit, by 
 the Guelphic states of Italy. She 
 therefore protected subordinate mem- 
 bers of the Church against feudal 
 chieftains, and its head against the 
 feudal Emperor. True to her relig- 
 ious and warlike character, she died 
 between the sword and the crucifix, 
 and two of her last acts, even when 
 the hand of death was already cold 
 on her brow, were the chastisement 
 of revolted Mantua, and the midnight 
 
34 2 
 
 Notes 
 
 celebration of Christ's nativity in the 
 depth of a freezing and unusually in- 
 clement winter." 
 
 50. Ovid, Met. V., Maynwaring's 
 Tr. : — 
 
 " Here, while young Proserpine, among the 
 maids, 
 Diverts herself in these delicious shades ; 
 While like a child with busy speed and care 
 She gathers lilies here, and violets there ; 
 While first to fill her little lap she strives, 
 Hell's grizzly monarch at the shade arrives ; 
 Sees her thus sporting on the flowery green, 
 And loves the blooming maid, as soon as 
 
 seen. 
 His urgent flame impatient of delay, 
 Swift as his thought he seized the beauteous 
 
 P re y> 
 
 And bore her in his sooty car away. 
 The frighted goddess to her mother cries, 
 But all in vain, for now far off" she flies. 
 Far she behind her leaves her virgin train ; 
 To them too cries, and cries to them in vain. 
 And while with passion she repeats her call, 
 The violets from her lap, and lilies fall : 
 She misses them, poor heart ! and makes new 
 
 moan ; 
 Her lilies, ah ! are lost, her violets gone." 
 
 65. Ovid, Met. X., Eusden's Tr. : — 
 
 " For Cytherea's lips while Cupid prest, 
 He with a heedless arrow razed her breast. 
 The goddess felt it, and, with fury stung, 
 The wanton mischief from her bosom flung : 
 Yet thought at first the danger slight, but 
 
 found 
 The dart too faithful, and too deep the wound. 
 Fired with a mortal beauty, she disdains 
 To haunt th' Idalian mount, or Phrygian 
 
 plains. 
 She seeks not Cnidos, nor her Paphian shrines, 
 Nor Amathus, that teems with brazen mines : 
 Even Heaven itself with all its sweets un- 
 sought, 
 Adonis far a sweeter Heaven is thought." 
 
 72. When Xerxes invaded Greece 
 he crossed the Hellespont on a bridge 
 of boats with an army of five million. 
 So say the historians. On his return 
 he crossed it in a fishing boat almost 
 alone, — "a warning to all human arro- 
 gance." 
 
 Leander naturally hated the Helles- 
 pont, having to swim it so many times. 
 The last time, according to Thomas 
 Hood, he met with a sea nymph, who, 
 enamored of his beauty, carried him to 
 the bottom of the sea. See Hero and 
 Leander, stanza 45 : — 
 
 " His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine, 
 His ears are deafened with the wildering 
 
 noise; 
 He asks the purpose of her fell design, 
 But foamy waves choke up his struggling 
 
 voice, 
 Under the ponderous sea his body dips, 
 And Hero's name dies bubbling on his 
 
 lips. 
 
 " Look how a man is lowered to his grave, 
 A yearning hollow in the green earth's 
 
 lap; 
 So he is sunk into the yawning wave, 
 The plunging sea fills up the watery gap; 
 Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen, 
 But likeness of green turf and hillocks 
 
 green. 
 
 " And where he swam, the constant sun lies 
 
 sleeping, 
 Over the verdant plain that makes his 
 
 bed ; 
 And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping, 
 Like gamesome boys over the churchyard 
 
 dead ; 
 The light in vain keeps looking for his face, 
 Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place." 
 
 80. Psalm xcii. 4 : " For thou, Lord, 
 hast made me glad through thy work : 
 
Pttrgatorio xxix. 
 
 343 
 
 I will triumph in the works of thy 
 hands." 
 
 87. Canto XXI. 46 : — 
 
 " Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, 
 Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls 
 Than the short, little stairway of three steps." 
 
 94. Only six hours, according to 
 Adam's own account in Par. XXI. 
 
 139: — 
 
 " Upon the mount which highest o'er the 
 wave 
 Rises was I, with life or pure or sinful, 
 From the first hour to that which is the 
 second, 
 As the sun changes quadrant, to the sixth." 
 
 102. Above the gate described in 
 Canto IX. 
 
 146. Virgil and Statius smile at this 
 allusion to the dreams of poets. 
 
 CANTO XXIX. 
 
 1. The Terrestrial Paradise and the 
 Apocalyptic Procession of the Church 
 Triumphant. 
 
 3. Psalm xxxii. 1 : "Blessed is he 
 whose transgression is forgiven, whose 
 sin is covered." 
 
 10. Counted together, their steps 
 were not a hundred in all. 
 
 41. The Muse of Astronomy, or 
 things celestial, represented as crowned 
 with stars and robed in azure. Milton, 
 Par ad. Lost, VII. 1, makes the same 
 invocation : — 
 
 " Descend from heaven, Urania, by that 
 name 
 If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine 
 Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, 
 Above the flight of Pegasean wing. 
 The meaning, not the name, I call : for thou 
 Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top 
 Of old Olympus dwell'st ; but, heavenly-born, 
 Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed, 
 Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse, 
 Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play 
 In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased 
 With thy celestial song." 
 
 47. The general form which ob- 
 jects may have in common, and by 
 which they resemble each other. 
 
 49. The faculty which lends dis- 
 course to reason is apprehension, or 
 the faculty by which things are first 
 conceived. See Canto XVIII. 22 : — 
 
 "Your apprehension from some real thing 
 
 An image draws, and in yourselves dis- 
 plays it, 
 So that it makes the soul turn unto it." 
 
 50. Revelation i. 12, 20: "And I 
 turned to see the voice that spake 
 with me. And, being turned, I saw 
 
 seven golden candlesticks And 
 
 the seven candlesticks are the 
 
 seven churches." 
 
 Some commentators interpret them 
 as the seven Sacraments of the Church ; 
 others, as the seven gifts of the Holy 
 Ghost. 
 
 78. Delia or Diana, the moon; and 
 her girdle, the halo, sometimes seen 
 around it. 
 
344 
 
 Notes 
 
 83. Revelation iv. 4 : " And round 
 about the throne were four and twenty- 
 seats : and upon the seats I saw four 
 and twenty elders sitting, clothed in 
 white raiment ; and they had on their 
 heads crowns of gold." 
 
 These four and twenty elders are 
 supposed to symbolize here the four 
 and twenty books of the Old Testa- 
 ment. The crown of lilies indicates 
 the purity of faith and doctrine. 
 
 85. The salutation of the angel to the 
 Virgin Mary. Luke i. 28 : " Blessed 
 art thou among women." Here the 
 words are made to refer to Beatrice. 
 
 92. The four Evangelists, of whom 
 the four mysterious animals in Eze- 
 kiel are regarded as symbols. Mrs. 
 Jameson, Sacred and Legendary Art, 
 
 I. 99 = — 
 
 "The general application of the Four 
 Creatures to the Four Evangelists is of 
 much earlier date than the separate and 
 individual application of each symbol, 
 which has varied at different times ; 
 that propounded by St. Jerome, in his 
 commentary on Ezekiel, has since his 
 time prevailed universally. Thus, 
 then, — 1. To St. Matthew was given 
 the Cherub, or human semblance, be- 
 cause he begins his Gospel with the 
 human generation of Christ ; or, ac- 
 cording to others, because in his Gos- 
 pel the human nature of the Saviour is 
 more insisted on than the divine. In 
 the most ancient mosaics, the type is 
 human, not angelic, for the head is that 
 of a man with a beard. 2. St. Mark 
 has the Lion, because he has set forth 
 the royal dignity of Christ ; or, ac- 
 
 cording to others, because he begins 
 with the mission of the Baptist, — ' the 
 voice of one crying in the wilderness? — 
 which is figured by the lion : or, ac- 
 cording to a third interpretation, the 
 lion was allotted to St. Mark because 
 there was, in the Middle Ages, a pop- 
 ular belief that the young of the lion 
 was born dead, and after three days 
 was awakened to vitality by the breath 
 of its sire ; some authors, however, 
 represent the lion as vivifying his 
 young, not by his breath, but by his 
 roar. In either case the application is 
 the same ; the revival of the young 
 lion was considered as symbolical of 
 the resurrection, and Mark was com- 
 monly called the ' historian of the res- 
 urrection.' Another commentator ob- 
 serves that Mark begins his Gospel 
 with 'roaring,' — 'the voice of one cry- 
 ing in the wilderness'; and ends it 
 fearfully with a curse, — ' He that be- 
 lieveth not shall be damned'; and that, 
 therefore, his appropriate attribute is 
 the most terrible of beasts, the lion. 
 
 3. Luke has the Ox, because he has 
 dwelt on the priesthood of Christ, 
 the ox being the emblem of sacrifice. 
 
 4. John has the Eagle, which is the 
 symbol of the highest inspiration, be- 
 cause he soared upwards to the con- 
 templation of the divine nature of the 
 Saviour." 
 
 100. Ezekiel i. 4: "And I looked, 
 and behold, a whirlwind came out of 
 the north, a great cloud, and a fire 
 infolding itself, and a brightness was 
 about it, and out of the midst there- 
 of, as the color of amber, out of the 
 
Purgatorio xxix. 
 
 345 
 
 midst of the fire. Also out of the 
 midst thereof came the likeness of four 
 living creatures. And this was their 
 appearance ; they had the likeness of 
 a man. And every one had four faces, 
 and every one had four wings. And 
 their feet were straight feet ; and the 
 sole of their feet was like the sole of a 
 calf's foot ; and they sparkled like the 
 color of burnished brass." 
 
 105. In Revelation iv. 8, they are 
 described as having " each of them six 
 wings"; in Ezekiel, as having only 
 four. 
 
 107. The triumphal chariot is the 
 Church. The two wheels are gen- 
 erally interpreted as meaning the Old 
 and New Testaments ; but Dante, Par. 
 XII. 106, speaks of them as St. Domi- 
 nic and St. Francis. 
 
 108. The Griffin, half lion and half 
 eagle, is explained by all the commen- 
 tators as a symbol of Christ, in his di- 
 vine and human nature. Didron, in 
 his Christian Iconography, interprets it 
 differently. He says, Millington's Tr., 
 I.458:- 
 
 " The mystical bird of two colors is 
 understood in the manuscript of Her- 
 rade to mean the Church ; in Dante, 
 the bi-formed bird is the representative 
 of the Church, the Pope. The Pope, 
 in fact, is both priest and king ; he 
 directs the souls and governs the per- 
 sons of men ; he reigns over things in 
 heaven. The Pope, then, is but one 
 single person in two natures, and under 
 two forms ; he is both eagle and lion. 
 In his character of Pontiff, or as an 
 eagle, he hovers in the heavens, and 
 
 vol. 11. 44 
 
 ascends even to the throne of God to 
 receive his commands ; as the lion or 
 king he walks upon the earth in strength 
 and power." 
 
 He adds in a note : " Some com- 
 mentators of Dante have supposed the 
 griffin to be the emblem of Christ, 
 who, in fact, is one single person with 
 two natures ; of Christ, in whom God 
 and man are combined. But in this 
 they are mistaken; there is, in the first 
 place, a manifest impropriety in de- 
 scribing the car as drawn by God as 
 by a beast of burden. It is very doubt- 
 ful even whether Dante can be alto- 
 gether freed from the imputation of a 
 want of reverence in harnessing the 
 Pope to the car of the Church." 
 
 no. The wings of the Griffin ex- 
 tend upward between the middle list 
 or trail of splendor of the seven candles 
 and the three outer ones on each side. 
 
 1 1 7. The chariot of the sun, which 
 Phaeton had leave to drive for a day, 
 is thus described by Ovid, Met. II., 
 Addison's Tr. : — 
 
 " A golden axle did the work uphold, 
 Gold was the beam, the wheels were orbed 
 
 with gold. 
 The spokes in rows of silver pleased the 
 
 sight, 
 The seat with party-colored gems was bright; 
 Apollo shined amid the glare of light." 
 
 120. In smiting Phaeton with a 
 thunderbolt. Ovid, Met. II. : — 
 
 " Jove called to witness every power above, 
 And even the god whose son the chariot drove, 
 That what he acts he is compelled to do, 
 Or universal ruin must ensue. 
 Straight he ascends the high ethereal throne, 
 From whence he used to dart his thunder down, 
 
34-6 
 
 Notes 
 
 From whence his showers and storms he used 
 
 to pour, 
 But now could meet with neither storm nor 
 
 shower j 
 Then, aiming at the youth, with lifted hand, 
 Full at his head he hurled the forky brand, 
 In dreadful thund'rings. Thus th* almighty 
 
 sire 
 Suppressed the raging of the fires with fire." 
 
 See also Inf. XVII. Note 107. 
 
 121. The three Theological or 
 Evangelical Virtues, Charity, Hope, 
 and Faith. For the symbolism of 
 colors in Art, see Mrs. Jameson, Sacred 
 and Legendary Art, quoted Canto VIII. 
 Note 28. 
 
 130. The four Cardinal Virtues, 
 Justice, Prudence, Fortitude, and Tem- 
 perance. They are clothed in purple 
 to mark their nobility. Prudence is 
 represented with three eyes, as look- 
 ing at the past, the present, and the 
 future. 
 
 133. St. Luke and St. Paul. 
 
 136. St. Luke is supposed to have 
 been a physician ; a belief founded on 
 Cohssians iv. 14, " Luke, the beloved 
 physician." The animal that nature 
 holds most dear is man. 
 
 140. The sword with which St. 
 Paul is armed is a symbol of warfare 
 and martyrdom ; " I bring not peace, 
 but a sword." St. Luke's office was 
 to heal ; St. Paul's to destroy. Mrs. 
 Jameson, Sacred and Legendary Art, I. 
 188, says : — 
 
 " At what period the sword was 
 given to St. Paul as his distinctive at- 
 tribute is with antiquaries a disputed 
 point ; certainly much later than the 
 keys were given to Peter. If we 
 
 could be sure that the mosaic on the 
 tomb of Otho the Second, and another 
 mosaic already described, had not been 
 altered in successive restorations, these 
 would be evidence that the sword was 
 given to St. Paul as his attribute as 
 early as the sixth century ; but there 
 are no monuments which can be ab- 
 solutely trusted as regards the intro- 
 duction of the sword before the end of 
 the eleventh century ; since the end 
 of the fourteenth century it has been so 
 generally adopted, that in the devotion- 
 al effigies I can remember no instance 
 in which it is omitted. When St. 
 Paul is leaning on the sword, it ex- 
 presses his martyrdom; when he holds 
 it aloft, it expresses also his warfare in 
 the cause of Christ : when two swords 
 are given to him, one is the attribute, 
 the other the emblem; but this double 
 allusion does not occur in any of the 
 older representations. In Italy I never 
 met with St. Paul bearing two swords, 
 and the only instance I can call to 
 mind is the bronze statue by Peter 
 Vischer, on the shrine of St. Sebald, at 
 Nuremberg." 
 
 142. The four Apostles James, Pe- 
 ter, John, and Jude, writers of the Ca- 
 nonical Epistles. The red flowers, 
 with which their foreheads seem all 
 aflame, are symbols of martyrdom. 
 Massinger, Virgin Martyr, V. 1 : — 
 
 " What flowers are these ? 
 In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous 
 Compared with these are weeds." 
 
 143. St. John, writer of the Apoca- 
 lypse ; here represented as asleep ; as 
 if he were "in the spirit on the Lord's 
 
Ptirgatorio xxix. 
 
 347 
 
 day, and heard behind him a great 
 voice as of a trumpet." Or perhaps 
 the allusion may be to the belief of the 
 early Christians that John did not die, 
 but was sleeping till the second coming 
 of Christ. This subject has been re- 
 presented in mediaeval Art as follows. 
 Mrs. Jameson, Sacred and Legendary 
 Art, I. 139: — 
 
 " St. John, habited in priest's gar- 
 ments, descends the steps of an altar 
 into an open grave, in which he lays 
 himself down, not in death, but in 
 sleep, until the coming of Christ; 'be- 
 ing reserved alive with Enoch and Eli- 
 jah (who also knew not death), to 
 preach against the Antichrist in the 
 last days.' This fanciful legend is 
 founded on the following text: 'Peter, 
 seeing the disciple whom Jesus loved 
 following, saith unto Jesus, Lord, and 
 what shall this man do ? Jesus saith 
 unto him, If I will that he tarry till I 
 come, what is that to thee ? Then 
 went this saying abroad among the 
 brethren that that disciple should not 
 die.' (John xxi. 21, 22.)" 
 
 154. Of this canto and those that 
 follow, Barlow, Study of the Div. Com., 
 p. 270, says : — 
 
 " Dante's sublime pageant of the 
 Church Militant is one of the most 
 marvellous processions ever marshalled 
 on paper. In the invention, arrange- 
 ment, grouping, and coloring the poet 
 has shown himself a great master in 
 art, familiar with all the stately require- 
 ments of solemn shows, festivals, and 
 triumphs. Whatever he may have 
 gathered from the sacred records, and 
 
 from classic writers, or seen in early 
 mosaics, or witnessed in the streets of 
 Florence with her joyous population, 
 her May-day dancers, and the military 
 pomp of her magnificent Carroccio, 
 like the arc of the covenant going forth 
 with the host, has here been surpassed 
 in invention and erudition, and a pic- 
 ture produced at once as original as 
 it is impressive, as significant as it is 
 grand. Petrarca was, probably, in- 
 debted to it for his ' Trionfi,' so 
 frequently in favor with Italian art- 
 ists. 
 
 " This canto with the four that fol- 
 low form a poem which, though an 
 essential portion of the Divina Corn- 
 media, may be separately considered as 
 the continuation of the poetic vision 
 mentioned in the Vita Nuova, and the 
 fulfilment of the intention there ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 " It represents the symbolical pas- 
 sage of the Christian Church, preceded 
 by the Hebrew dispensation, and fol- 
 lowed by the disastrous effects of 
 schism, and the corruptions induced 
 by the unholy conduct of political 
 Pontiffs. The soul of this solemn ex- 
 hibition, the living and glorified prin- 
 ciple of the beatitude which Religion 
 pure and holy confers upon those who 
 embrace it, is personified in the * Don- 
 na,' to whom Dante from his earliest 
 youth had been more or less devoted, 
 the Beatrice of the Vita Nuova, 'Loda 
 di Dio vera,' who concentrates in her- 
 self the divine wisdom with which the 
 Church is inspired, whom angels de- 
 light to honor, and whose advent on 
 
48 
 
 Notes 
 
 earth had been prepared from all eter- 
 nity by the moral virtues. 
 
 " Beatrice is here presented as the 
 principle of divine beatitude, or that 
 which confers it, and bears a resem- 
 blance to the figure of the New Jerusa- 
 lem seen by St. John descending from 
 heaven 'as a bride adorned for her 
 husband ' {Rev. xxi. 2) ; a representa- 
 tion of which, in the manner of Ra- 
 phael, occurs in one of the tapestries 
 of the Vatican, and, though not arrayed 
 in the colors of the Christian virtues, 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity, white and 
 green and red, as was Beatrice, may 
 yet be regarded as a Roman version 
 of her." 
 
 Didron, describing the painting of 
 the Triumph of Christ in the Church 
 of Notre Dame de Brou, Christian 
 Iconography, Millington's Tr., I. 315, 
 says : — 
 
 " In the centre of all rises the Hero 
 of the Triumph, Jesus Christ, who is 
 seated in an open car with four wheels. 
 He alone is adorned with a nimbus 
 formed of rays, departing from each 
 point of the head, and which illumines 
 everything around. With one glance 
 he embraces the past which precedes, 
 and the future which is to succeed him. 
 His face resembles that drawn by Ra- 
 phael and the masters of the period of 
 Renaissance, agreeing with the descrip- 
 tion given by Lentulus and Damasce- 
 nus ; it is serious and gentle. In the 
 centre of the chariot is placed a starry 
 globe traversed by the ecliptic, on 
 which the twelve signs of the zodiac 
 are brilliantly figured. This globe is 
 
 symbolic of the world, and forms a 
 throne for Christ : the Son of God is 
 seated on its summit. The car is 
 placed upon four wheels, and drawn 
 by the four attributes or symbols of 
 the Evangelists. The angel of St. 
 Matthew, and the eagle of St. John, 
 are of celestial whiteness ; the lion of 
 St. Mark, and the ox of St. Luke, are 
 of a reddish yellow, symbolizing the 
 earth on which they dwell. The 
 eagle and angel do, in fact, fly ; while 
 the lion and the ox walk. Yet upon 
 the painted window all the four have 
 wings. A rein of silver, passing round 
 the neck of each of the four symbols, 
 is attached to the pole of the chariot. 
 The Church, represented by the four 
 most elevated religious potentates, by 
 the Pope, the Cardinal, the Arch- 
 bishop, and Bishop, or by the four 
 chief Fathers, St. Gregory, St. Jerome, 
 St. Ambrose, and St. Augustine, drives 
 the four-wheeled car, and, in conjunc- 
 tion with the Evangelists, urges it on- 
 ward. Jesus guides his triumph, not 
 holding reins, but shedding blessings 
 from his right hand wherever he 
 passes. 
 
 " The entire assemblage of persons 
 represented on the window are seen 
 marching onwards, singing with joy. 
 Within the spaces formed by the mul- 
 lions which trellis the upper part of 
 the window, forty-six angels are repre- 
 sented with long golden hair, white 
 transparent robes, and wings of yellow, 
 red, violet, and green ; they are all 
 painted on a background of azure, like 
 the sky, and celebrate with blended 
 
Ptirgatorio xxix. 
 
 349 
 
 voices, or with musical instruments, 
 the glory of Christ. Some have in 
 their hands instruments of different 
 forms, others books of music. The 
 four animals of the Evangelists seem 
 with sonorous voice to swell the accla- 
 mations of the hosts of saints ; the ox 
 with his bellowing, the lion with his 
 roar, the eagle with his cry, and the 
 angel with his song, accompany the 
 songs of the forty-six angels who fill 
 the upper part of the window. At the 
 head of the procession is an angel who 
 leads the entire company, and, with a 
 little cross which he holds in his hand, 
 points out to all the Paradise they are 
 to enter. Finally, twelve other an- 
 gels, blue as the heaven into which 
 they melt, join in adoration before the 
 
 triumph of Christ 
 
 " Dante has given a description of a 
 similar triumph, but marked by some 
 interesting differences. The Floren- 
 tine poet formed his cortege of figures 
 taken from the Apocalypse and Chris- 
 tian symbolism. At Brou, with the 
 exception of the attributes of the Evan- 
 gelists, everything is historical. In 
 the sixteenth century, in fact, history 
 began to predominate over symbol- 
 ism, which in the thirteenth and four- 
 teenth centuries had reigned supreme. 
 Dante, who was a politic poet, drew 
 the triumph, not of Christ, but of 
 the Church ; the triumph of Catholi- 
 cism rather than of Christianity. The 
 chariot by which he represents the 
 Church is widowed of Christ, whose 
 figure is so important on the window 
 
 of Brou ; the chariot is empty, and 
 Dante neither discovered this deficien- 
 cy, nor was concerned to rectify it ; 
 for he was less anxious to celebrate 
 Christ and his doctrine, for their own 
 sake, than as connected with the or- 
 ganization and administration of the 
 Church. He described the car as 
 drawn by a griffin, thereby represent- 
 ing the Pope, for the griffin unites in 
 itself the characteristics of both eagle 
 and lion. Now the Pope is also two- 
 fold in character ; as priest he is the 
 eagle floating in the air ; as king, he is 
 a lion, walking upon the earth. The 
 Ultramontane poet regarded the Church, 
 that is the Papacy, in the light of an 
 absolute monarchy; not a limited mon- 
 archy as with us, and still less a re- 
 public, as amongst the schismatics of 
 Greece and of the East. Consequent- 
 ly, while, at Brou, the Cardinal, the 
 Archbishop, and Bishop assist the Pope 
 in guiding the car of the Church, 
 in the ' Divina Commedia,' the Pope 
 is alone, and accepts of no assistance 
 from the other great ecclesiastical dig- 
 nitaries. At Brou the car is guided by 
 the Evangelists, or by their attributes ; 
 ecclesiastical power is content merely 
 to lend its aid. According to the Ital- 
 ian poet, the Evangelists, although pres- 
 ent at the Triumph, do not conduct 
 it ; the Pope is himself the sole guide 
 of the Church, and permits neither 
 the Evangelists to direct nor ecclesias- 
 tics to assist him. The Pope seems to 
 require no assistance ; his eye and arm 
 alone are sufficient for him." 
 
35° 
 
 Notes 
 
 CANTO XXX. 
 
 I. In this canto Beatrice appears. 
 The Seven Stars, or Septentrion of 
 
 the highest heaven, are the seven lights 
 that lead the procession, the seven gifts 
 of the Holy Ghost, by which all men 
 are guided safely in things spiritual, as 
 the mariner is by the Septentrion, or 
 Seven Stars of the Ursa Minor, two of 
 which are called the " Wardens of the 
 Pole," and one of which is the Cyno- 
 sure, or Pole Star. These lights pre- 
 cede the triumphal chariot, as in our 
 heaven the Ursa Minor precedes, or is 
 nearer the centre of rest, than the Ursa 
 Major or Charles's Wain. 
 
 In the Northern Mythology the God 
 Thor is represented as holding these 
 constellations in his hand. The old 
 Swedish Rhyme Chronicle, describing 
 the statues in the church of Upsala, 
 says : — 
 
 "The God Thor was the highest of them; 
 He sat naked as a child, 
 Seven stars in his hand and Charles's Wain. 
 
 Spenser, Faerie Queene, I. ii. I : — 
 
 " By this the northern wagoner had set 
 His sevenfold teme behind the steadfast 
 
 starre 
 That was in ocean waves yet never wet, 
 But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from 
 
 farre 
 To all that in the wide deep wandering arre." 
 
 I I. Song of Solomon iv. 8 : " Come 
 with me from Lebanon, my spouse, 
 with me from Lebanon." 
 
 17. At the voice of so venerable an 
 old man. 
 
 19. The cry of the multitude at 
 Christ's entry into Jerusalem. Mat- 
 thew xxi. 9 : "Blessed is he that com- 
 eth in the name of the Lord." 
 
 21. JEneid, VI. 833: "Give me 
 lilies in handfuls ; let me scatter pur- 
 ple flowers." 
 
 25. Milton, Parad. Lost, I. 194: — 
 
 " As when the sun new-risen 
 Shines through the horizontal misty air 
 Shorn of his beams." 
 
 32. It will be observed that Dante 
 makes Beatrice appear clothed in the 
 colors of the three Theological Virtues 
 described in Canto XXIX. 121. The 
 white veil is the symbol of Faith ; the 
 green mantle, of Hope ; the red tunic, 
 of Charity. The crown of olive de- 
 notes wisdom. This attire somewhat 
 resembles that given by artists to the 
 Virgin. " The proper dress of the 
 Virgin," says Mrs. Jameson, Legends of 
 the Madonna, Introd., liii., "is a close, 
 red tunic, with long sleeves, and over 
 
 this a blue robe or mantle Her 
 
 head ought to be veiled." 
 
 35. Beatrice had been dead ten 
 years at the date of the poem, 1300. 
 
 36. Fully to understand and feel 
 what is expressed in this line, the 
 reader must call to mind all that Dante 
 says in the Vita Nuova of his meetings 
 with Beatrice, and particularly the first, 
 which is thus rendered by Mr. Norton 
 in his New Life of Dante, p. 20 : — 
 
 " Nine times now, since my birth, 
 the heaven of light had turned almost 
 
Ptirgatorio xxx. 
 
 3Si 
 
 to the same point in its gyration, when 
 first appeared before my eyes the glori- 
 ous lady of my mind, who was called 
 Beatrice by many who did not know 
 why they thus called her. She had 
 now been in this life so long, that in 
 its course the starry heaven had moved 
 toward the east one of the twelve 
 parts of a degree ; so that about the 
 beginning of her ninth year she ap- 
 peared to me, and I near the end of 
 my ninth year saw her. She appeared 
 to me clothed in a most noble color, a 
 becoming and modest crimson, and she 
 was girt and adorned in the style that 
 became her extreme youth. At that 
 instant, I say truly, the spirit of life, 
 which dwells in the most secret cham- 
 ber of the heart, began to tremble 
 with such violence, that it appeared 
 fearfully in the least pulses, and, trem- 
 bling, said these words : Ecce deus for- 
 tior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi! 
 * Behold a god, stronger than I, who, 
 coming, shall rule me ! ' 
 
 " At that instant, the spirit of the 
 soul, which dwells in the high cham- 
 ber to which all the spirits of the 
 senses bring their perceptions, began 
 to marvel greatly, and, addressing the 
 spirits of the sight, said these words : 
 Apparuit jam beatitudo vestra, — 'Now 
 hath appeared your bliss.' At that 
 instant the natural spirit, which dwells 
 in that part where the nourishment is 
 supplied, began to weep, and, weep- 
 ing, said these words: Heu miser! quia 
 frequenter impeditus ero deinceps, — ' Woe 
 is me wretched ! because frequently 
 henceforth shall I be hindered.' 
 
 " From this time forward I say that 
 Love lorded it over my soul, which 
 had been thus quickly put at his dis- 
 posal ; and he began to exercise over 
 me such control and such lordship, 
 through the power which my imagi- 
 nation gave to him, that it behoved me 
 to perform completely all his pleasure. 
 He commanded me many times that 
 I should seek to see this youthful an- 
 gel, so that I in my boyhood often 
 went seeking her, and saw her of such 
 noble and praiseworthy deportment, 
 that truly of her might be said that 
 saying of the poet Homer : ' She does 
 not seem the daughter of mortal man, 
 but of God.' And though her image, 
 which stayed constantly with me, in- 
 spired confidence in Love to hold lord- 
 ship over me, yet it was of such noble 
 virtue, that it never suffered that Love 
 should rule without the faithful counsel 
 of Reason in those matters in which 
 such counsel could be useful." 
 
 48. Dante here translates Virgil's 
 own words, as he has done so many 
 times before. JEneid, IV. 23 : Agnosco 
 veteris vestigia flamma. 
 
 52. The Terrestrial Paradise lost 
 by Eve. 
 
 83. Psalm xxxi. 1, 8: "In thee, 
 
 O Lord, have I put my trust 
 
 Thou hast set my feet in a large room." 
 
 85. JEneid, VI. 180: "Down drop 
 the firs ; crashes, by axes felled, the 
 ilex ; and the ashen rafters and the 
 yielding oaks are cleft by wedges." 
 
 And IX. 87 : "A wood .... dark 
 with gloomy firs, and rafters of the 
 maple." 
 
352 
 
 Notes 
 
 Denistoun, Mem. of the Duke of Ur- 
 bino, I. 4, says: "On the summit grew 
 those magnificent pines, which gave to 
 the district of Massa the epithet of 
 Trabaria, from the beams which were 
 carried thence for the palaces of Rome, 
 and which are noticed by Dante as 
 
 ' The living rafters 
 Upon the back of Italy.' " 
 
 87. Shakespeare, Winter's Tale, IV. 
 
 3= — 
 
 " The fanned snow 
 
 That 's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er." 
 
 And Midsummer Night's Dream : — 
 
 " High Taurus' snow 
 Fanned with the eastern wind." 
 
 113. Which are formed in such 
 lofty regions, that they are beyond hu- 
 man conception. 
 
 125. Beatrice died in 1290, at the 
 age of twenty-five. 
 
 136. How far these self-accusations 
 of Dante were justified by facts, and 
 how far they may be regarded as ex- 
 pressions of a sensitive and excited 
 conscience, we have no means of de- 
 termining. It is doubtless but simple 
 justice to apply to him the words 
 which he applies to Virgil, Canto 
 III. 8: — 
 
 " O noble conscience, and without a stain, 
 How sharp a sting is trivial fault to thee ! " 
 
 This should be borne in mind when 
 we read what Dante says of his own 
 shortcomings ; as, for instance, in his 
 conversation with his brother-in-law 
 Forese, Canto XXIII. 115: — 
 
 " If thou bring back to mind 
 What thou with me hast been and I with thee, 
 The present memory will be grievous still." 
 
 But what shall we say of this sonnet 
 addressed to Dante by his intimate 
 friend, Guido Cavalcanti ? Rossetti, 
 Early Italian Poets, p. 358 : — 
 
 " I come to thee by daytime constantly, 
 
 But in thy thoughts too much of baseness 
 
 find: 
 Greatly it grieves me for thy gentle mind, 
 And for thy many virtues gone from thee. 
 It was thy wont to shun much company, 
 Unto all sorry concourse ill inclined : 
 And still thy speech of me, heartfelt and 
 
 kind, 
 Had made me treasure up thy poetry. 
 But now I dare not, for thine abject life, 
 Make manifest that I approve thy rhymes; 
 Nor come I in such sort that thou may'st 
 know. 
 Ah ! prythee read this sonnet many times : 
 So shall that evil one who bred this strife 
 Be thrust from thy dishonored soul, and 
 go." 
 
 CANTO XXXI. 
 
 1. In this canto Dante, having made 
 confession of his sins, is drawn by Ma- 
 tilda through the river Lethe. 
 
 2. Hitherto Beatrice has directed 
 
 her discourse to her attendant hand- 
 maidens around the chariot. Now she 
 speaks directly to Dante. 
 
 25. As in a castle or fortress. 
 
Purgatorio xxxi. 
 
 353 
 
 30. As one fascinated and enamored 
 with them. 
 
 42. The sword of justice is dulled 
 by the wheel being turned against its 
 edge. This is the usual interpretation; 
 but a friend suggests that the allusion 
 may be to the wheel of St. Catherine, 
 which is studded with sword-blades. 
 
 46. The grief which is the cause of 
 your weeping. 
 
 59. There is a good deal of gossip- 
 ing among the commentators about this 
 little girl or Pargoletta. Some sup- 
 pose it to be the same as the Gentucca 
 of Canto XXIV. 37, and the Pargo- 
 letta of one of the poems in the Can- 
 zoniere, which in Mr. Lyell's trans- 
 lation runs as follows : — 
 " Ladies, behold a maiden fair, and young ; 
 To you I come heaven's beauty to display, 
 And manifest the place from whence I 
 am. 
 In heaven I dwelt, and thither shall return, 
 Joy to impart to angels with my light. 
 He who shall me behold nor be enamored, 
 Of Love shall never comprehend the charm ; 
 For every pleasing gift was freely given, 
 When Nature sought the grant of me from 
 
 him 
 Who willed that your companion I should 
 be. 
 Each star upon my eyes its influence sheds, 
 And with its light and virtue I am blest : 
 Beauties are mine the world hath never 
 
 seen, 
 For I obtained them in the realms above ; 
 And ever must their essence rest unknown, 
 Unless through consciousness of him in 
 
 whom 
 Love shall abide through pleasure of an- 
 other. 
 These words a youthful angel bore inscribed 
 Upon her brow, whose vision we beheld ; 
 And I, who to find safety gazed on her, 
 VOL. II. 45 
 
 A risk incur that it may cost my life ; 
 For I received a wound so deep and wide 
 From one I saw entrenched within her eyes, 
 That still I weep, nor peace I since have 
 known." 
 
 Others think the allusion is general. 
 The Qttimo says: "Neither that young 
 woman, whom in his Rime he called 
 Pargoletta, nor that Lisetta, nor that 
 other mountain maiden, nor this one, 
 nor that other." He might have added 
 the lady of Bologna, of whom Dante 
 sings in one of his sonnets : — 
 
 " And I may say 
 That in an evil hour I saw Bologna, 
 And that fair lady whom I looked upon." 
 
 Buti gives a different interpretation 
 of the word pargoletta, making it the 
 same as pargulta or pargo/ezza, " child- 
 ishness or indiscretion of youth." 
 
 In all this unnecessary confusion one 
 thing is quite evident. As Beatrice is 
 speaking of the past, she could not 
 possibly allude to Gentucca, who is 
 spoken of as one who would make 
 Lucca pleasant to Dante at some fu- 
 ture time : — 
 
 "'A maid is born, and wears not yet the veil,' 
 Began he, ' who to thee shall pleasant make 
 My city, howsoever men may blame it.' " 
 
 Upon the whole, the interpretation 
 of the Qttimo is the most satisfactory, 
 or at all events the least open to objec- 
 tion. 
 
 63. Proverbs i. 17: "Surely in vain 
 the net is spread in the sight of any 
 bird." 
 
 72. Iarbas, king of Gaetulia, from 
 whom Dido bought the land for build- 
 ing Carthage. 
 
354 
 
 Notes 
 
 yj. The angels described in Canto 
 XXX. 20, as 
 
 " Scattering flowers above and round about." 
 92. Matilda, described in Canto 
 XXVIII. 40: — 
 
 " A lady all alone, who went along 
 
 Singing and culling floweret after floweret, 
 With which her pathway was all painted 
 over." 
 
 95. Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress, the 
 river without a bridge : — 
 
 " Now I further saw that betwixt 
 them and the gate was a river ; but 
 there was no bridge to go over : the 
 river was very deep. At the sight 
 therefore of this river, the pilgrims 
 were much stunned ; but the men that 
 went with them said, ' You must go 
 through, or you cannot come at the 
 gate.' .... 
 
 " They then addressed themselves 
 to the water, and, entering, Christian 
 began to sink, and crying out to his 
 good friend Hopeful, he said, ' I sink 
 in deep waters ; the billows go over 
 my head, all his waves go over me. 
 Selah.' 
 
 " Now upon the bank of the river, 
 on the other side, they saw the two 
 shining men again, who there waited 
 for them. Wherefore being come out 
 of the river, they saluted them, saying, 
 ' We are ministering spirits, sent forth 
 to minister for those that shall be heirs 
 of salvation.' " 
 
 98. Psalms li. 7 : " Purge me with 
 hyssop, and I shall be clean : wash me 
 and I shall be whiter than snow." 
 
 104. The four attendant Nymphs 
 on the left of the triumphal chariot. 
 
 See Canto XXIX. 130: — 
 
 " Upon the left hand four made holiday 
 Vested in purple." 
 
 106. See Canto I. Note 23. 
 
 in. These four Cardinal Virtues 
 lead to Divine Wisdom, but the three 
 Evangelical Virtues quicken the sight 
 to penetrate more deeply into it. 
 
 1 1 4. Standing upon the chariot still ; 
 she does not alight till line 36 of the 
 next canto. 
 
 116. The color of Beatrice's eyes has 
 not been passed over in silence by the 
 commentators. Lani, in his Annota- 
 zioni, says : " They were of a greenish 
 blue, like the color of the sea." Me- 
 chior Messirini, who thought he had 
 discovered a portrait of Beatrice as 
 old as the fourteenth century, affirms 
 that she had " splendid brown eyes." 
 Dante here calls them emeralds ; upon 
 which the Ottimo comments thus : 
 " Dante very happily introduces this 
 precious stone, considering its proper- 
 ties, and considering that griffins watch 
 over emeralds. The emerald is the 
 prince of all green stones ; no gem nor 
 herb has greater greenness ; it reflects 
 an image like a mirror ; increases 
 wealth ; is useful in litigation and to 
 orators ; is good for convulsions and 
 epilepsy; preserves and strengthens the 
 sight; restrains lust; restores memory; 
 is powerful against phantoms and de- 
 mons; calms tempests; stanches blood, 
 and is useful to soothsayers." 
 
 The beauty of green eyes, ojuelos 
 verdes, is extolled by Spanish poets ; 
 and is not left unsung by poets of other 
 countries. Lycophron in his " tene- 
 
Purgatorio xxxn. 
 
 355 
 
 brous poem " of Cassandra, says of 
 Achilles : — 
 
 " Lo ! the warlike eagle come, 
 Green of eye, and black of plume." 
 
 And in one of the old French Mys- 
 teries, Hist. Tbeat. Franc., I. 176, 
 Joseph describes the child Jesus as 
 having 
 
 " Les yeulx vers, la chair blanche et tendre 
 Les cheveulx blonds." 
 
 122. Monster is here used in the 
 sense of marvel or prodigy. 
 
 123. Now as an eagle, now as a 
 
 lion. The two natures, divine and hu- 
 man, of Christ are reflected in Theol- 
 ogy, or Divine Wisdom. Didron, who 
 thinks the GrifHn a symbol of the Pope, 
 applies this to his spiritual and tempo- 
 ral power: "As priest he is the eagle 
 floating in the air ; as king he is a lion 
 walking on the earth." 
 
 132. The Italian Caribo, like the 
 English Carol or Roundelay, is both 
 song and dance. Some editions read 
 in this line " singing," instead of 
 " dancing." 
 
 CANTO XXXII 
 
 1. A mystical canto, in which is de- 
 scribed the tree of the forbidden fruit, 
 and other wonderful and mysterious 
 things. 
 
 2. Beatrice had been dead ten years. 
 10. Goethe, Hermann and Dorothea, 
 
 Cochrane's Tr., p. 103 : — 
 
 " Ev'n as the wanderer, who, ere the sun dips 
 
 his orb in the ocean, 
 One last look still takes of the day-god, fast 
 
 disappearing ; 
 Then, amid rocks rude -piled, umbrageous 
 
 forests, and copsewoods, 
 Sees his similitude float, wherever he fixes 
 
 his vision ; 
 Finding it glancing before him, and dancing 
 
 in magical colors." 
 
 35. A disfrenata saetta, an uncurbed 
 arrow, like that which Pandarus shot 
 at Menelaus, Iliad, IV. 124: "The 
 sharp-pointed arrow sprang forth, eager 
 to rush among the crowd." 
 
 38. Genesis ii. 16 : "Of every tree 
 
 of the garden thou mayest freely eat. 
 But of the tree of the knowledge of 
 good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it : 
 for in the day that thou eatest thereof, 
 thou shalt surely die." 
 
 Some commentators suppose that 
 Dante's mystic tree is not only the 
 tree of knowledge of good and evil, 
 but also a symbol of the Roman Em- 
 pire. 
 
 41. Virgil, Georgics, IT. 123 : "The 
 groves which India, nearer the ocean, 
 the utmost skirts of the globe, pro- 
 duces, where no arrows by their flight 
 have been able to surmount the airy 
 summit of the tree ; and yet that na- 
 tion is not slow at archery." 
 
 43. Christ's renunciation of tempo- 
 ral power. 
 
 51. The pole of the chariot, which 
 was made of this tree, he left bound to 
 the tree. 
 
356 
 
 Notes 
 
 Buti says : " This chariot represents 
 the Holy Church, which is the con- 
 gregation of the faithful, and the pole 
 of this chariot is the cross of Christ, 
 which he bore upon his shoulders, so 
 that the author well represents him as 
 dragging the pole with his neck." 
 The statement that the cross was made 
 of the tree of knowledge, is founded 
 on an old legend. When Adam was 
 dying, he sent his son Seth to the 
 Garden of Paradise to bring him some 
 drops of the oil of the mercy of God. 
 The angel at the gate refused him en- 
 trance, but gave him a branch from the 
 tree of knowledge, and told him to 
 plant it upon Adam's grave ; and that, 
 when it should bear fruit, then should 
 Adam receive the oil of God's mercy. 
 The branch grew into a tree, but never 
 bore fruit till the passion of Christ ; 
 but " of a branch of this tree and of 
 other wood," says Buti, " the cross 
 was made, and from that branch was 
 suspended such sweet fruit as the body 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, and then 
 Adam and other saints had the oil of 
 mercy, inasmuch as they were taken 
 from Limbo and led by Christ into 
 eternal life." 
 
 54. In the month of February, 
 when the sun is in the constellation 
 of the Fishes. Dante here gives it 
 the title of the Lasca, the Roach or 
 Mullet. 
 
 58. The red and white of the apple- 
 blossoms is symbolical of the blood and 
 water which flowed from the wound 
 in Christ's side. At least so' thinks 
 Vellutelli. 
 
 Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 226, 
 says: "Some three arrow-flights farther 
 up into the wood we come to a tall 
 tree, which is at first barren, but, after 
 some little time, visibly opens into 
 flowers, of a color * less than that of 
 roses, but more than that of violets.' 
 It certainly would not be possible, 
 in words, to come nearer to the defini- 
 tion of the exact hue which Dante 
 meant, — that of the apple- blossom. 
 Had he employed any simple color- 
 phrase, as a ' pale pink,' or ' violet 
 pink,' or any other such combined 
 expression, he still could not have 
 completely got at the delicacy of the 
 hue ; he might perhaps have indicated 
 its kind, but not its tenderness ; but 
 by taking the rose-leaf as the type of 
 the delicate red, and then enfeebling 
 this with the violet gray, he gets, as 
 closely as language can carry him, to 
 the complete rendering of the vision, 
 though it is evidently felt by him to 
 be in its perfect beauty ineffable ; and 
 rightly so felt, for of all lovely things 
 which grace the spring-time in our fair 
 temperate zone, I am not sure but this 
 blossoming of the apple-tree is the 
 fairest." 
 
 65. The eyes of Argus, whom Mer- 
 cury lulled asleep by telling him the 
 story of Syrinx, and then put to death. 
 
 Ovid, Met., I., Dryden's Tr. : — 
 
 " While Hermes piped, and sung, and told 
 
 his tale, 
 The keeper's winking eyes began to fail, 
 And drowsy slumber on the lids to creep ; 
 Till all the watchman was at length asleep. 
 Then soon the god his voice and song sup- 
 
 prest, 
 
Purgatorio xxxu. 
 
 357 
 
 And with his powerful rod confirmed his rest; 
 Without delay his crooked falchion drew, 
 And at one fatal stroke the keeper slew." 
 
 73. The Transfiguration. The pas- 
 sage in the Song of Solomon, ii. 3, "As 
 the apple-tree among the trees of the 
 wood, so is my beloved among the 
 sons," is interpreted as referring to 
 Christ ; and Dante here calls the 
 Transfiguration the blossoming of that 
 tree. 
 
 jj. Matthew xvii. 5 : " While he 
 yet spake, behold, a bright cloud over- 
 shadowed them : and, behold, a voice 
 out of the cloud, which said, This is 
 my beloved Son, in whom I am well 
 pleased; hear ye him. And when the 
 disciples heard it, they fell on their 
 face, and were sore afraid. And Jesus 
 came and touched them, and said, 
 Arise, and be not afraid. And when 
 they had lifted up their eyes, they saw 
 no man, save Jesus only." 
 
 8z. Matilda. 
 
 98. The seven Virtues holding the 
 seven golden candlesticks, or the seven 
 gifts of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 j 1 2. The descent of the eagle upon 
 the tree is interpreted by Buti as the 
 persecution of the Christians by the 
 Emperors. The rending of the bark 
 of the tree is the " breaking down of 
 the constancy and fortitude of holy 
 men " ; the blossoms are " virtuous 
 examples or prayers," and the new 
 leaves, " the virtuous deeds that holy 
 men had begun to do, and which were 
 interrupted by these persecutions." 
 
 115. Buti says: "This descent of 
 the eagle upon the chariot, and the 
 
 smiting it, mean the persecution of the 
 Holy Church and of the Christians by 
 the Emperors, as appears in the chron- 
 icles down to the time of Constan- 
 tine." 
 
 119. The fox is Heresy. 
 
 126. The gift of Constantine to the 
 Church. Inf. XIX. 125: — 
 
 " Ah, Constantine ! of how much woe was 
 mother, 
 
 Not thy conversion, but that marriage- 
 dower 
 
 Which the first wealthy Father took from 
 thee ! " 
 
 131. Mahomet. Revelation xii. 3 : 
 " And there appeared another wonder 
 in heaven ; and, behold, a great red 
 dragon, having seven heads and ten 
 horns, and seven crowns upon his 
 heads. And his tail drew the third 
 part of the stars of heaven, and did 
 cast them to the earth." 
 
 144. These seven heads, say the 
 Ottimo and others, " denote the seven 
 deadly sins." But Biagioli, following 
 Buti, says : " There is no doubt that 
 these heads and the horns represent 
 the same that we have said in Canto 
 XIX. of the Inferno ; namely, the ten 
 horns, the Ten Commandments of 
 God ; and the seven heads, the Seven 
 Sacraments of the Church." Never 
 was there a wider difference of inter- 
 pretation. The context certainly fa- 
 vors the first. 
 
 150. Pope Boniface the Eighth. 
 
 152. Philip the Fourth of France. 
 For his character see Canto XX. 
 Note 43. 
 
 156. This alludes to the maltreat- 
 ment of Boniface by the troops of 
 
358 
 
 Notes 
 
 % 
 Philip at Alagna. See Canto XX. 
 
 Note 87. 
 
 1 59. The removal of the Papal See 
 from Rome to Avignon. 
 
 The principal points of the allegory 
 of this canto may be summed up as 
 follows. The triumphal chariot, the 
 Church ; the seven Nymphs, the Vir- 
 
 tues Cardinal and Evangelical ; the 
 seven candlesticks, the seven gifts of 
 the Holy Spirit ; the tree of knowl- 
 edge, Rome ; the Eagle, the Imperial 
 power ; the Fox, heresy ; the Dragon, 
 Mahomet ; the shameless whore, Pope 
 Boniface the Eighth ; and the giant, 
 Philip the Fair of France. 
 
 CANTO XXXIII. 
 
 I. In this canto Dante is made to 
 drink of the river Eunoe, the memory 
 of things good. 
 
 Psalm lxxix., beginning : " O God, 
 the heathen are come into thine in- 
 heritance ; thy holy temple have they 
 defiled." The three Evangelical and 
 four Cardinal Virtues chant this psalm, 
 alternately responding to each other. 
 The Latin words must be chanted, 
 in order to make the lines rhythmical, 
 with an equal emphasis on each syl- 
 lable. 
 
 7. When their singing was ended. 
 
 10. John xvi. 16 : "A little while, 
 and ye shall not see me: and again, a 
 little while, and ye shall see me ; be- 
 cause I go to the Father." 
 
 15. Dante, Matilda, and Statius. 
 
 27. As in Canto XXXI. 7 : — 
 
 " My faculties were in so great confusion, 
 
 That the voice moved, but sooner was extinct 
 Than by its organs it was set at large." 
 
 34. Is no longer what it was. Rev- 
 elation xvii. 8 : "The beast that thou 
 sawest was, and is not." 
 
 36. In the olden time in Florence, 
 if an assassin could contrive to eat a 
 sop of bread and wine at the grave of 
 the murdered man, within nine days 
 after the murder, he was free from the 
 vengeance of the family ; and to pre- 
 vent this they kept watch at the tomb. 
 There is no evading the vengeance of 
 God in this way. Such is the inter- 
 pretation of this passage by all the old 
 commentators. 
 
 37. The Roman Empire shall not 
 always be without an Emperor, as it 
 was then in the eyes of Dante, who 
 counted the "German Albert," Alberto 
 tedesco, as no Emperor, because he 
 never came into Italy. See the appeal 
 to him, Canto VI. 96, and the male- 
 diction, because he suffered 
 
 "The garden of the empire to be waste." 
 
 43. The Roman numerals making 
 DVX, or Leader. The allusion is to 
 Henry of Luxemburgh, in whom Dante 
 placed his hopes of the restoration of 
 the Imperial power. He was the suc- 
 cessor of the German Albert of the 
 
Pttrgatorio xxxm. 
 
 359 
 
 preceding note, after an interregnum of 
 one year. He died in 13 12, shortly 
 after his coronation in Rome. See 
 Canto VI. Note 97. 
 
 Villani, though a Guelf, pays this 
 tribute of respect to his memory, Book 
 IX. Ch. 1 : " He was wise and just 
 and gracious, valiant in arms, dignified, 
 and catholic ; and although of low 
 estate in lineage, he was of a magnani- 
 mous heart, feared and redoubted, and 
 if he had lived longer, he would have 
 done great things." 
 
 When Henry entered Italy in Sep- 
 tember, 1 3 10, Dante hastened to meet 
 him, full of faith and hope. Whether 
 this interview took place at Susa, Tu- 
 rin, or Milan, is uncertain ; nor is 
 there any record of it, except the allu- 
 sion in the following extract from a 
 letter of Dante, " written in Tuscany, 
 at the sources of the Arno, on the 
 14th of May, 131 1, in the first year 
 of the happy journey of the divine 
 Henry into Italy." Dante was dis- 
 appointed that his hero should linger 
 so long in the Lombard towns, and 
 wished him to march at once against 
 Florence, the monster " that drinketh 
 neither of the headlong Po, nor of thy 
 Tyber." In this letter, Mr. Greene's 
 Tr., he says : — 
 
 " The inheritance of peace, as the 
 immense love of God witnesseth, was 
 left us, that in the marvellous sweet- 
 ness thereof our hard warfare might 
 be softened, and by the use thereof 
 we might deserve the joys of our tri- 
 umphant country. But the hatred of 
 the ancient and implacable enemy, 
 
 who ever and secretly layeth snares 
 for human prosperity, — disinheriting 
 some of those who were willing, — 
 impiously, in the absence of our pro- 
 tector, despoiled us also, who were 
 unwilling. Wherefore we wept long 
 by the rivers of confusion, and inces- 
 santly implored the protection of the 
 just king, to scatter the satellites of 
 the cruel tyrant, and restore us to our 
 just rights. And when thou, succes- 
 sor of Cassar and of Augustus, crossing 
 the chain of the Apennines, brought 
 back the venerable Tarpeian ensigns, 
 our long sighings straightway ceased, 
 the fountains of our tears were stayed, 
 and a new hope of a better age, like a 
 sun suddenly risen, shed its beams over 
 Latium. Then many, breaking forth 
 into jubilant vows, sang with Mars the 
 Saturnian reign, and the return of the 
 Virgin. 
 
 " But since our sun (whether the 
 fervor of desire suggests it, or the 
 aspect of truth) is already believed to 
 have delayed, or is supposed to be 
 going back in his course, as if a new 
 Joshua or the son of Amos had com- 
 manded, we are compelled in our un- 
 certainty to doubt, and to break forth 
 in the words of the Forerunner : ' Art 
 thou he that should come, or look we 
 for another?' And although the fury 
 of long thirst turns into doubt, as is its 
 wont, the things which are certain be- 
 cause they are near, nevertheless we 
 believe and hope in thee, asserting 
 thee to be the minister of God, and 
 the son of the Church, and the pro- 
 moter of the Roman glory. And I, 
 
360 
 
 Notes 
 
 who write as well for myself as for 
 others, when my hands touched thy 
 feet and my lips performed their office, 
 saw thee most benignant, as becometh 
 the Imperial majesty, and heard thee 
 most clement. Then my spirit ex- 
 ulted within me, and I silently said to 
 myself, 'Behold the lamb of God, who 
 taketh away the sins of the world." 
 
 Dante, Par. XXX. 133, sees the 
 crown and throne that await the "no- 
 ble Henry " in the highest heaven : — 
 
 " On that great throne on which thine eyes are 
 fixed 
 For the crown's sake already placed upon it, 
 Before thou suppest at this wedding feast, 
 Shall sit the soul (that is to be Augustus 
 On earth) of noble Henry, who shall come 
 To reform Italy ere she be prepared." 
 
 47. Themis, the daughter of Ccelus 
 and Terra, whose oracle was famous in 
 Attica, and who puzzled Deucalion and 
 Pyrrha by telling them that, in order 
 to repeople the earth after the deluge, 
 they must throw "their mother's bones 
 behind them." 
 
 The Sphinx, the famous monster 
 born of Chimera, and having the head 
 of a woman, the wings of a bird, the 
 body of a dog, and the paws of a lion ; 
 and whose riddle, "What animal walks 
 on four legs in the morning, on two at 
 noon, and on three at night ? " so puz- 
 zled the Thebans, that King Creon 
 offered his crown and his daughter 
 Jocasta to any one who should solve 
 it, and so free the land of the uncom- 
 fortable monster ; a feat accomplished 
 by CEdipus apparently without much 
 difficulty. 
 
 49. The Naiades having undertaken 
 to solve the enigmas of oracles, The- 
 mis, offended, sent forth a wild beast 
 to ravage the flocks and fields of the 
 Thebans ; though why they should 
 have been held accountable for the 
 doings of the Naiades is not very ob- 
 vious. The tradition is founded on a 
 passage in Ovid, Met., VII. 757 : — 
 
 " Carmina Naiades non intellecta priorum 
 Solvunt." 
 
 Heinsius and other critics say that the 
 lines should read, 
 
 " Carmina La'iades non intellecta priorum 
 Solverat "j 
 
 referring to CEdipus, son of Laius. But 
 Rosa Moranda maintains the old read- 
 ing, and says there is authority in Pau- 
 sanias for making the Naiades inter- 
 preters of oracles. 
 
 54. Cop las de Manrique : — 
 
 " Our cradle is the starting place, 
 Life is the running of the race." 
 
 57. First by the Eagle, who rent its 
 bark and leaves ; then by the giant, 
 who bore away the chariot which had 
 been bound to it. 
 
 61. The sin of Adam, and the death 
 of Christ. 
 
 66. Widening at the top, instead of 
 diminishing upward like other trees. 
 
 68. The Elsa is a river in Tuscany, 
 rising in the mountains near Colle, and 
 flowing northward into the Arno, be- 
 tween Florence and Pisa. Its waters 
 have the power of incrusting or petri- 
 fying anything left in them. " This 
 power of incrustation," says Covino, 
 Descriz. Geog. delP Italia, " is espe- 
 
Purgatorio xxxm. 
 
 361 
 
 cially manifest a little above Colle, 
 where a great pool rushes impetuously 
 from the ground." 
 
 69. If the vain thoughts thou hast 
 been immersed in had not petrified 
 thee, and the pleasure of them stained 
 thee ; if thou hadst not been 
 "Converted into stone and stained with sin." 
 
 78. The staff wreathed with palm, 
 the cockle-shell in the hat, and the 
 sandal-shoon were all marks of the pil- 
 grim, showing he had been beyond 
 sea and in the Holy Land. Thus in 
 the old ballad of The Friar of Orders 
 Gray : — 
 
 " And how should I your truelove know 
 From many another one ? 
 O by his cockle-hat and staff, 
 And by his sandal-shoone." 
 
 In the Vita Nuova, Mr. Norton's Tr., 
 p. 71, is this passage : " Moreover, it 
 is to be known that the people who 
 travel in the service of the Most High 
 are called by three distinct terms. 
 Those who go beyond the sea, whence 
 often they bring back the palm, are 
 called palmers. Those who go to the 
 house of Galicia are called pilgrims, be- 
 cause the burial-place of St. James was 
 more distant from his country than that 
 of any other of the Apostles. And those 
 are called romei who go to Rome." 
 
 85. How far Philosophy differs from 
 Religion. Isaiah lv. 8 : " For my 
 thoughts are not your thoughts, neither 
 are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. 
 For as the heavens are higher than 
 the earth, so are my ways higher than 
 your ways, and my thoughts than your 
 thoughts." 
 
 VOL. II. 46 
 
 104. Noon of the Fourth Day of 
 Purgatory. 
 
 112. Two of the four rivers that 
 watered Paradise. Here they are 
 the same as Lethe and Eunoe, the 
 oblivion of evil, and the memory of 
 good. 
 
 127. Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress: — 
 
 " I saw then, that they went on 
 their way to a pleasant river, which 
 David the king called * the river of 
 God'; but John, 'the river of the 
 water of life.' Now their way lay 
 just upon the bank of the river : here 
 therefore Christian and his compan- 
 ion walked with great delight : they 
 drank also of the water of the river, 
 which was pleasant, and enlivening to 
 their weary spirits. Besides, on the 
 banks of this river, on either side, were 
 green trees for all manner of fruit ; 
 and the leaves they ate to prevent sur- 
 feits and other diseases that are inci- 
 dent to those that heat their blood by 
 travels. On either side of the river 
 was also a meadow, curiously beauti- 
 fied with lilies ; and it was green all 
 the year long. In this meadow they 
 lay down and slept ; for here they 
 might lie down safely. When they 
 awoke, they gathered again of the 
 fruits of the trees, and drank again of 
 the water of the river, and then lay 
 down again to sleep." 
 
 129. Sir John Denham says : — 
 " The sweetest cordial we receive at last 
 
 Is conscience of our virtuous actions past." 
 
 145. The last word in this division 
 of the poem, as in the other two, is 
 the suggestive word " Stars." 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE HERO AS POET. 
 
 From Heroes and Hero Worship, by Thomas Carlyle. 
 
 Many volumes have been written by 
 way of commentary on Dante and his 
 Book ; yet, on the whole, with no 
 great result. His biography is, as it 
 were, irrecoverably lost for us. An 
 unimportant, wandering, sorrow-strick- 
 en man, not much note was taken of 
 him while he lived ; and the most of 
 that has vanished, in the long space 
 that now intervenes. It is five centu- 
 ries since he ceased writing and living 
 here. After all commentaries, the Book 
 itself is mainly what we know of him. 
 The Book, — and one might add that 
 Portrait commonly attributed to Giot- 
 to, which, looking on it, you cannot 
 help inclining to think genuine, who- 
 ever did it. To me it is a most 
 touching face ; perhaps, of all faces 
 that I know, the most so. Lonely 
 there, painted as on vacancy, with the 
 simple laurel wound round it ; the 
 deathless sorrow and pain, the known 
 victory which is also deathless; — sig- 
 nificant of the whole history of Dante! 
 I think it is the mournfulest face that 
 ever was painted from reality; an al- 
 together tragic, heart -affecting face. 
 
 There is in it, as foundation of it, the 
 softness, tenderness, gentle affection as 
 of a child ; but all this is as if con- 
 gealed into sharp contradiction, into 
 abnegation, isolation, proud, hopeless 
 pain. A soft, ethereal soul looking out 
 so stern, implacable, grim-trenchant, 
 as from imprisonment of thick-ribbed 
 ice ! Withal it is a silent pain too, 
 a silent, scornful one : the lip is curled 
 in a kind of godlike disdain of the 
 thing that is eating out his heart, — as 
 if it were withal a mean, insignificant 
 thing, as if he whom it had power to 
 torture and strangle were greater than 
 it. The face of one wholly in protest, 
 and life -long, unsurrendering battle, 
 against the world. Affection all con- 
 verted into indignation ; an implacable 
 indignation ; slow, equable, silent, like 
 that of a god ! The eye too, it looks 
 out as in a kind of surprise, a kind of 
 inquiry, Why the world was of such 
 a sort ? This is Dante : so he looks, 
 this " voice of ten silent centuries," 
 and sings us " his mystic, unfathomable 
 song." 
 
 The little that we know of Dante's 
 
3 66 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 Life corresponds well enough with this 
 Portrait and this Book. He was born 
 at Florence, in the upper class of so- 
 ciety, in the year 1265. His educa- 
 tion was the best then going ; much 
 school-divinity, Aristotelean logic, some 
 Latin classics, — no inconsiderable in- 
 sight into certain provinces of things : 
 and Dante, with his earnest, intelligent 
 nature, we need not doubt, learned 
 better than most all that was learnable. 
 He has a clear, cultivated understand- 
 ing, and of great subtlety ; this best 
 fruit of education he had contrived to 
 realize from these scholastics. He 
 knows accurately and well what lies 
 close to him ; but in such a time, 
 without printed books or free inter- 
 course, he could not know well what 
 was distant: the small, clear light, most 
 luminous for what is near, breaks itself 
 into singular chiaroscuro striking on 
 what is far off. This was Dante's 
 learning from the schools. In life, he 
 had gone through the usual destinies ; — 
 been twice out campaigning as a sol- 
 dier for the Florentine state; been on 
 embassy ; had in his thirty-fifth year, 
 by natural gradation of talent and ser- 
 vice, become one of the chief magis- 
 trates of Florence. He had met in 
 boyhood a certain Beatrice Portinari, 
 a beautiful little girl of his own age 
 and rank, and grown up thenceforth in 
 partial sight of her, in some distant 
 intercourse with her. All readers 
 know his graceful, affecting account of 
 this ; and then of their being parted ; 
 of her being wedded to another, and 
 of her death soon after. She makes a 
 
 great figure in Dante's Poems ; seems 
 to have made a great figure in his life. 
 Of all beings it might seem as if she, 
 held apart from him, far apart at last 
 in the dim Eternity, were the only 
 one he had ever with his whole strength 
 of affection loved. She died : Dante 
 himself was wedded ; but it seems not 
 happily, far from happily. I fancy, 
 the rigorous, earnest man, with his keen 
 excitabilities, was not altogether easy 
 to make happy. 
 
 We will not complain of Dante's 
 miseries : had all gone right with him 
 as he wished it, he might have been 
 Prior, Podesta, or whatsoever they call 
 it, of Florence, well accepted among 
 neighbors, — and the world had wanted 
 one of the most notable words ever 
 spoken or sung. Florence would have 
 had another prosperous Lord Mayor ; 
 and the ten dumb centuries continued 
 voiceless, and the ten other listening 
 centuries (for there will be ten of 
 them and more) had no Divina Corn- 
 media to hear ! We will complain of 
 nothing. A nobler destiny was ap- 
 pointed for this Dante ; and he, strug- 
 gling like a man led towards death and 
 crucifixion, could not help fulfilling it. 
 Give him the choice of his happiness ! 
 He knew not, more than we do, what 
 was really happy, what was really 
 miserable. 
 
 In Dante's Priorship, the Guelph- 
 Ghibelline, Bianchi-Neri, or some 
 other confused disturbances, rose to 
 such a height, that Dante, whose party 
 had seemed the stronger, was with his 
 friends cast unexpectedly forth into 
 
The Hero as Poet 
 
 367 
 
 banishment ; doomed thenceforth to a 
 life of woe and wandering. His prop- 
 erty was all confiscated, and more ; he 
 had the fiercest feeling that it was en- 
 tirely unjust, nefarious in the sight of 
 God and man. He tried what was in 
 him to get reinstated ; tried even by 
 warlike surprisal, with arms in his 
 hand : but it would not do ; bad only 
 had become worse. There is a record, 
 I believe, still extant in the Florence 
 Archives, dooming this Dante, where- 
 soever caught, to be burnt alive. Burnt 
 alive ; so it stands, they say : a very 
 curious civic document. Another curi- 
 ous document, some considerable num- 
 ber of years later, is a Letter of Dante's 
 to the Florentine Magistrates, written 
 in answer to a milder proposal of 
 theirs, that he should return on con- 
 dition of apologizing and paying a fine. 
 He answers, with fixed, stern pride : 
 " If I cannot return without calling 
 myself guilty, I will never return, nun- 
 quam revertar." 
 
 For Dante there was now no home 
 in this world. He wandered from 
 patron to patron, from place to place ; 
 proving, in his own bitter words, 
 " How hard is the path, Come % duro 
 calk." The wretched are not cheer- 
 ful company. Dante, poor and ban- 
 ished, with his proud, earnest nature, 
 with his moody humors, was not a man 
 to conciliate men. Petrarch reports 
 of him, that being at Can della Scala's 
 court, and blamed one day for his 
 gloom and taciturnity, he answered in 
 no courtier-like way. Della Scala 
 stood among his courtiers, with mimes 
 
 and bufFoons (nebulones ac histriones) 
 making him heartily merry ; when, 
 turning to Dante, he said : " Is it not 
 strange, now, that this poor fool should 
 make himself so entertaining ; while 
 you, a wise man, sit there day after 
 day, and have nothing to amuse us 
 with at all ? " Dante answered bit- 
 terly : " No, not strange ; your High- 
 ness is to recollect the proverb, Like 
 to Like ",• — given the amuser, the 
 amusee must also be given ! Such a 
 man, with his proud, silent ways, with 
 his sarcasms and sorrows, was not made 
 to succeed at court. By degrees, it 
 came to be evident to him that he had 
 no longer any resting-place, or hope of 
 benefit, in this earth. The earthly 
 world had cast him forth, to wander ; 
 no living heart to love him now ; for 
 his sore miseries there was no solace 
 here. 
 
 The deeper naturally would the 
 Eternal World impress itself on him ; 
 that awful reality over which, after all, 
 this Time-world, with its Florences 
 and banishments, only flutters as an 
 unreal shadow. Florence thou shalt 
 never see: but Hell and Purgatory and 
 Heaven thou shalt surely see ! What 
 is Florence, Can della Scala, and the 
 World and Life altogether ? Eter- 
 nity : thither, of a truth, not else- 
 whither, art thou and all things bound! 
 The great soul of Dante, homeless on 
 earth, made its home more and more 
 in that awful other world. Naturally 
 his thoughts brooded on that, as' on the 
 one fact important for him. Bodied 
 or bodiless, it is the one fact important 
 
368 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 for all men : but to Dante, in that age, 
 it was bodied in fixed certainty of 
 scientific shape ; he no more doubted 
 of that Malebolge Pool, that it all lay 
 there with its gloomy circles, with its 
 alti guai, and that he himself should 
 see it, than we doubt that we should 
 see Constantinople if we went thither. 
 Dante's heart, long filled with this, 
 brooding over it in speechless thought 
 and awe, bursts forth at length into 
 "mystic, unfathomable song"; and this 
 his Divine Comedy, the most remarkable 
 of all modern Books, is the result. It 
 must have been a great solacement to 
 Dante, and was, as we can see, a proud 
 thought for him at times, that he, 
 here in exile, could do this work; that 
 no Florence, nor no man or men, could 
 hinder him from doing it, or even 
 much help him in doing it. He knew 
 too, partly, that it was great ; the 
 greatest a man could do. " If thou 
 follow thy star, Se tu segui tua stella, " 
 — so could the Hero, in his forsaken- 
 ness, in his extreme need, still say to 
 himself: " Follow thou thy star, thou 
 shalt not fail of a glorious haven ! " 
 The labor of writing, we find, and in- 
 deed could know otherwise, was great 
 and painful for him ; he says, This 
 Book " which has made me lean for 
 many years." Ah yes, it was won, all 
 of it, with pain and sore toil, — not in 
 sport, but in grim earnest. His Book, 
 as indeed most good Books are, has 
 been written, in many senses, with his 
 heart's blood. It is his whole history 
 this Book. He died after finishing it ; 
 not yet very old, at the age of fifty- 
 
 six ; — broken-hearted rather, as is 
 said. He lies buried in his death-city 
 Ravenna : Hie claudor Dantes patriis 
 extorris ab orris. The Florentines 
 begged back his body, in a century 
 after ; the Ravenna people would not 
 give it. " Here am I Dante laid, shut 
 out from my native shores." 
 
 I said, Dante's Poem was a Song : 
 it is Tieck who calls it " a mystic, un- 
 fathomable Song"; and such is liter- 
 ally the character of it. Coleridge 
 remarks very pertinently somewhere, 
 that wherever you find a sentence 
 musically worded, of true rhythm and 
 melody in the words, there is some- 
 thing deep and good in the meaning 
 too. For body and soul, word and 
 idea, go strangely together here as 
 everywhere. Song : we said before, 
 it was the Heroic of Speech ! All old 
 Poems, Homer's and the rest, are au- 
 thentically Songs. I would say, in 
 strictness, that all right Poems are ; 
 that whatsoever is not sung is properly 
 no Poem, but a piece of Prose cramped 
 into jingling lines, — to the great injury 
 of the grammar, to the great grief of 
 the reader, for most part ! What we 
 want to get at is the thought the man 
 had, if he had any : why should he 
 twist it into jingle, if he could speak it 
 out plainly ? It is only when the 
 heart of him is rapt into true passion 
 of melody, and the very tones of him, 
 according to Coleridge's remark, be- 
 come musical by the greatness, depth, 
 and music of his thoughts, that we can 
 give him right to rhyme and sing; that 
 we call him a Poet, and listen to him 
 
The Hero as Poet 
 
 3^9 
 
 as the Heroic of Speakers, — whose 
 speech is Song. Pretenders to this are 
 many ; and to an earnest reader, I 
 doubt, it is for most part a very mel- 
 ancholy, not to say an insupport- 
 able business, that of reading rhyme ! 
 Rhyme that had no inward necessity 
 to be rhymed ; — it ought to have told 
 us plainly, without any jingle, what it 
 was aiming at. I would advise all 
 men who can speak their thought, not 
 to sing it ; to understand that, in a 
 serious time, among serious men, there 
 is no vocation in them for singing it. 
 Precisely as we love the true song, and 
 are charmed by it as by something 
 divine, so shall we hate the false song, 
 and account it a mere wooden noise, 
 a thing hollow, superfluous, altogether 
 an insincere and offensive thing. 
 
 I give Dante my highest praise 
 when I say of his Divine Comedy that 
 it is, in all senses, genuinely a Song. 
 In the very sound of it there is a canto 
 fermo ; it proceeds as by a chant. 
 The language, his simple terza rima, 
 doubtless helped him in this. One 
 reads along naturally with a sort of 
 lilt. But I add, that it could not be 
 otherwise ; for the essence and ma- 
 terial of the work are themselves 
 rhythmic. Its depth, and rapt passion 
 and sincerity, makes it musical ; — go 
 deep enough, there is music every- 
 where. A true inward symmetry, 
 what one calls an architectural har- 
 mony, reigns in it, proportionates it 
 all : architectural ; which also par- 
 takes of the character of music. The 
 three kingdoms, Inferno, Purgatorio, 
 vol. 11. 47 
 
 Paradiso, look out on one another like 
 compartments of a great edifice ; a great 
 supernatural world-cathedral, piled up 
 there, stern, solemn, awful ; Dante's 
 World of Souls ! It is, at bottom, 
 the sincerest of all Poems ; sincerity, 
 here too, we find to be the measure 
 of worth. It came deep out of the 
 author's heart of hearts ; and it goes 
 deep, and through long generations, 
 into ours. The people of Verona, 
 when they saw him on the streets, 
 used to say : "Eccovi F uom elf e stato 
 aW Inferno, See, there is the man that 
 was in Hell ! " Ah, yes, he had been 
 in Hell ; - — in Hell enough, in long, 
 severe sorrow and struggle ; as the like 
 of him is pretty sure to have been. 
 Commedias that come out divine are 
 not accomplished otherwise. Thought, 
 true labor of any kind, highest virtue 
 itself, is it not the daughter of Pain ? 
 Born as out of the black whirlwind ; 
 true effort, in fact, as of a captive strug- 
 gling to free himself: that is Thought. 
 In all ways we are "to become perfect 
 through suffering" — But, as I say, no 
 work known to me is so elaborated as 
 this of Dante's. It has all been as if 
 molten, in the hottest furnace of his 
 soul. It had made him " lean " for 
 many years. Not the general whole 
 only ; every compartment of it is 
 worked out, with intense earnestness, 
 into truth, into clear visuality. Each 
 answers to the other ; each fits in its 
 place, like a marble stone accurately 
 hewn and polished. It is the soul of 
 Dante, and in this the soul of the 
 Middle Ages, rendered forever rhyth- 
 
37° 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 mically visible there. No light task ; 
 a right intense one : but a task which 
 is done. 
 
 Perhaps one would say, intensity, 
 with the much that depends on it, is 
 the prevailing character of Dante's 
 genius. Dante does not come before 
 us as a large catholic mind ; rather as 
 a narrow, and even sectarian mind : 
 it is partly the fruit of his age and posi- 
 tion, but partly too of his own nature. 
 His greatness has, in all senses, con- 
 centred itself into fiery emphasis and 
 depth. He is world-great not because 
 he is world-wide, but because he is 
 world-deep. Through all objects he 
 pierces as it were down into the heart 
 of Being. I know nothing so intense 
 as Dante. Consider, for example, to 
 begin with the outermost development 
 of his intensity, consider how he paints. 
 He has a great power of vision ; seizes 
 the very type of a thing ; presents that 
 and nothing more. You remember 
 that first view he gets of the Hall of 
 Dite : red pinnacle, red-hot cone of 
 iron glowing through the dim immen- 
 sity of gloom ; so vivid, so distinct, 
 visible at once and forever ! It is an 
 emblem of the whole genius of Dante. 
 There is a brevity, an abrupt precision 
 in him : Tacitus is not briefer, more 
 condensed; and then in Dante it seems 
 a natural condensation, spontaneous to 
 the man. One smiting word ; and 
 then there is silence, nothing more 
 said. His silence is more eloquent 
 than words. It is strange with what 
 a sharp, decisive grace he snatches the 
 true likeness of a matter ; cuts into the 
 
 matter as with a pen of fire. Plutus, 
 the blustering giant, collapses at Vir- 
 gil's rebuke ; it is " as the sails sink, 
 the mast being suddenly broken." Or 
 that poor Brunetto, with the cotto as- 
 petto, "face baked," parched brown and 
 lean ; and the " fiery snow " that falls 
 on them there, a " fiery snow without 
 wind," slow, deliberate, never-ending ! 
 Or the lids of those Tombs ; square 
 sarcophaguses, in that silent dim-burn- 
 ing Hell, each, with its Soul in tor- 
 ment ; the lids laid open there ; they 
 are to be shut at the Day of Judgment, 
 through Eternity. And how Farinata 
 rises ; and how Cavalcante falls — at 
 hearing of his Son, and the past tense 
 " fue ! " The very movements in 
 Dante have something brief; swift, 
 decisive, almost military. It is of the 
 inmost essence of his genius this sort 
 of painting. The fiery, swift Italian 
 nature of the man, so silent, passionate, 
 with its quick abrupt movements, its 
 silent " pale rages," speaks itself in 
 these things. 
 
 For though this of painting is one of 
 the outermost developments of a man, 
 it comes like all else from the essential 
 faculty of him ; it is physiognomical 
 of the whole man. Find a man whose 
 words paint you a likeness, you have 
 found a man worth something ; mark 
 his manner of doing it, as very charac- 
 teristic of him. In the first place, he 
 could not have discerned the object at 
 all, or seen the vital type of it, unless 
 he had, what we may call, sympathized 
 with it, — had sympathy in him to be- 
 stow on objects. He must have been 
 
The Hero as Poet 
 
 37i 
 
 sincere about it too ; sincere and sym- 
 pathetic : a man without worth cannot 
 give you the likeness of any object ; 
 he dwells in vague outwardness, fallacy 
 and trivial hearsay, about all objects. 
 And indeed may we not say that in- 
 tellect altogether expresses itself in this 
 power of discerning what an object is ? 
 Whatsoever of faculty a man's mind 
 may have will come out here. Is it 
 even of business, a matter to be done ? 
 The gifted man is he who sees the 
 essential point, and leaves all the rest 
 aside as surplusage ; it is his faculty, 
 too, the man of business's faculty, that 
 he discern the true likeness, not the 
 false, superficial one, of the thing he 
 has got to work in. And how much 
 of morality is in the kind of insight we 
 get of anything ; " the eye seeing in 
 all things what it brought with it the 
 faculty of seeing ! " To the mean eye 
 all things are trivial, as certainly as to 
 the jaundiced they are yellow. Ra- 
 phael, the Painters tell us, is the best 
 of all Portrait-painters withal. No 
 most gifted eye can exhaust the signifi- 
 cance of any object. In the commonest 
 human face there lies more than Ra- 
 phael will take away with him. 
 
 Dante's painting is not graphic only, 
 brief, true, and of a vividness as of lire 
 in dark night ; taken on the wider 
 scale, it is every way noble, and the 
 outcome of a great soul. Francesca 
 and her Lover, what qualities in that ! 
 A thing woven as out of rainbows, on 
 a ground of eternal black. A small 
 flute-voice of infinite wail speaks there, 
 into our very heart of hearts. A touch 
 
 of womanhood in it too : delta bella 
 persona, cbe mifu tolta ,• and how, even 
 in the Pit of woe, it is a solace that he 
 will never part from her ! Saddest 
 tragedy in these aid guai. And the 
 racking winds, in that aer bruno, whirl 
 them away again, to wail forever ! — 
 Strange to think: Dante was the friend 
 of this poor Francesca's father ; Fran- 
 cesca herself may have sat upon the 
 Poet's knee, as a bright innocent little 
 child. Infinite pity, yet also infinite 
 rigor of law : it is so Nature is made ; 
 it is so Dante discerned that she was 
 made. What a paltry notion is that 
 of his Divine Comedy's being a poor 
 splenetic, impotent, terrestrial libel ; 
 putting those into Hell whom he could 
 not be avenged upon on earth ! I sup- 
 pose if ever pity, tender as a mother's, 
 was in the heart of any man, it was in 
 Dante's. But a man who does not know 
 rigor cannot pity either. His very 
 pity will be cowardly, egoistic, — sen- 
 timentality, or little better. I know 
 not in the world an affection equal to 
 that of Dante. It is a tenderness, a 
 trembling, longing, pitying love : like 
 the wail of ^Eolian harps, soft, soft ; 
 like a child's young heart ; — and then 
 that stern, sore-saddened heart ! These 
 longings of his towards his Beatrice ; 
 their meeting together in the Paradiso ; 
 his gazing in her pure transfigured 
 eyes, her that had been purified by 
 death so long, separated from him so 
 far : — one likens it to the song of an- 
 gels ; it is among the purest utterances 
 of affection, perhaps the very purest 
 that ever came out of a human soul. 
 
372 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 For the intense Dante is intense in 
 all things ; he has got into the essence 
 of all. His intellectual insight, as 
 painter, on occasion too as reasoner, is 
 but the result of all other sorts of in- 
 tensity. Morally great, above all, we 
 must call him ; it is the beginning of 
 all. His scorn, his grief, are as tran- 
 scendent as his love ; — as, indeed, what 
 are they but the inverse or converse of 
 his love ? "A Dio Spiacenti, ed a' ne- 
 mici sui, Hateful to God and to the 
 enemies of God ": lofty scorn, un- 
 appeasable silent reprobation and aver- 
 sion : "Non ragionam di lor, We will 
 not speak of them, look only and pass." 
 Or think of this: "They have not the 
 hope to die, Non han speranza di morte." 
 One day, it had risen sternly benign 
 on the scathed heart of Dante, that 
 he, wretched, never-resting, worn as 
 he was, would full surely die ; " that 
 Destiny itself could not doom him not 
 to die." Such words are in this man. 
 For rigor, earnestness, and depth he is 
 not to be paralleled in the modern 
 world; to seek his parallel we must go 
 into the Hebrew Bible, and live with 
 the antique Prophets there. 
 
 I do not agree with much modern 
 criticism, in greatly preferring the In- 
 ferno to the two other parts of the 
 Divine Commedia. Such preference 
 belongs, I imagine, to our general By- 
 ronism of taste, and is like to be a 
 transient feeling. The Pur gat or io and 
 Paradiso, especially the former, one 
 would almost say, is even more ex- 
 cellent than it. It is a noble thing 
 that Purgatorio, " Mountain of Purifi- 
 
 cation"; an emblem of the noblest 
 conception of that age. If Sin is so 
 fatal, and Hell is and must be so rigor- 
 ous, awful, yet in Repentance too is 
 man purified ; Repentance is the grand 
 Christian act. It is beautiful how 
 Dante works it out. The tremolar del? 
 onde, that " trembling " of the ocean- 
 waves under the first pure gleam of 
 morning, dawning afar on the wander- 
 ing Two, is as the type of an altered 
 mood. Hope has now dawned; never- 
 dying Hope, if in company still with 
 heavy sorrow. The obscure sojourn 
 of daemons and reprobate is under foot; 
 a soft breathing of penitence mounts 
 higher and higher, to the Throne of 
 Mercy itself. " Pray for me," the 
 denizens of that Mount of Pain all say 
 to him. " Tell my Giovanna to pray 
 for me," my daughter Giovanna; "I 
 think her mother loves me no more ! " 
 They toil painfully up by that wind- 
 ing ste-ep, " bent down like corbels of 
 a building," some of them, — crushed 
 together so "for the sin of pride"; 
 yet nevertheless in years, in ages, and 
 320ns they shall have reached the top, 
 which is Heaven's gate, and by Mercy 
 shall have been admitted in. The joy 
 too of all, when one has prevailed ; 
 the whole Mountain shakes with joy, 
 and a psalm of praise rises, when one 
 soul has perfected repentance, and got 
 its sin and misery left behind ! I call 
 all this a noble embodiment of a true, 
 noble thought. 
 
 But indeed the Three compartments 
 mutually support one another, are in- 
 dispensable to one another. The Pa- 
 
The Hero as Poet 
 
 373 
 
 radiso, a kind of inarticulate music to 
 me, is the redeeming side of the In- 
 ferno ; the Inferno without it were 
 untrue. All three make up the true 
 Unseen World, as figured in the Chris- 
 tianity of the Middle Ages ; a thing 
 forever memorable, forever true in the 
 essence of it, to all men. It was per- 
 haps delineated in no human soul with 
 such depth of veracity as in this of 
 Dante's ; a man sent to sing it, to keep 
 it long memorable. Very notable with 
 what brief simplicity he passes out of 
 the every-day reality, into the Invisi- 
 ble one ; and in the second or third 
 stanza, we find ourselves in the World 
 of Spirits ; and dwell there, as among 
 things palpable, indubitable ! To 
 Dante they were so ; the real world, 
 as it is called, and its facts, was but 
 the threshold to an infinitely higher 
 Fact of a World. At bottom, the one 
 was as />r<^rnatural as the other. Has 
 not each man a soul ? He will not 
 only be a spirit, but is one. To the 
 earnest Dante it is all one visible Fact; 
 he believes it, sees it ; is the Poet of 
 it in virtue of that. Sincerity, I say 
 again, is the saving merit, now as al- 
 ways. 
 
 Dante's Hell, Purgatory, Paradise, 
 are a symbol withal, an emblematic 
 representation of his Belief about this 
 Universe : — some Critic in a future 
 age, like those Scandinavian ones the 
 other day, who has ceased altogether 
 to think as Dante did, may find this 
 too all an " Allegory," perhaps an idle 
 Allegory ! It is a sublime embodi- 
 ment, our sublimest, of the soul of 
 
 Christianity. It expresses, as in huge 
 world-wide architectural emblems, how 
 the Christian Dante felt Good and Evil 
 to be the two polar elements of this 
 Creation, on which it all turns ; that 
 these two differ not by preferability of 
 one to the other, but by incompat- 
 ibility absolute and infinite ; that the 
 one is excellent and high as light and 
 Heaven, the other hideous, black as 
 Gehenna and the Pit of Hell ! Ever- 
 lasting Justice, yet with Penitence, with 
 everlasting Pity, — all Christianism, as 
 Dante and the Middle Ages had it, is 
 emblemed here. Emblemed: and yet, 
 as I urged the other day, with what 
 entire truth of purpose ; how uncon- 
 scious of any embleming ! Hell, Pur- 
 gatory, Paradise : these things were 
 not fashioned as emblems ; was there, 
 in our Modern European Mind, any 
 thought at all of their being emblems ! 
 Were they not indubitable, awful facts; 
 the whole heart of man taking them 
 for practically true, all Nature every- 
 where confirming them ? So is it al- 
 ways in these things. Men do not 
 believe in Allegory. The future Critic, 
 whatever his new thought may be, who 
 considers this of Dante to have been 
 all got up as an Allegory, will commit 
 one sore mistake ! — Paganism we rec- 
 ognized as a veracious expression of 
 the earnest, awe-struck feeling of man 
 towards the Universe ; veracious, true 
 once, and still not without worth for 
 us. But mark here the difference of 
 Paganism and Christianism ; one great 
 difference. Paganism emblemed chiefly 
 the Operations of Nature ; the desti- 
 
374 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 nies, efforts, combinations, vicissitudes 
 of things and men in this world: Chris- 
 tianism emblemed the Law of Human 
 Duty, the Moral Law of Man. One 
 was for the sensuous nature : a rude 
 helpless utterance of the first Thought 
 of men, — the chief recognized virtue, 
 Courage, Superiority to Fear. The 
 other was not for the sensuous nature, 
 but for the moral. What a progress is 
 here, if in that one respect only ! — ■ 
 
 And so in this Dante, as we said, 
 had ten silent centuries, in a very 
 strange way, found a voice. The Di- 
 vina Commedia is of Dante's writing ; 
 yet in truth it belongs to ten Christian 
 centuries, only the finishing of it Is 
 Dante's. So always. The craftsman 
 there, the smith with that metal of nis, 
 with these tools, with these cunning 
 methods, — how little of all he does is 
 properly his work ! All past inventive 
 men work there with him ; — as in- 
 deed with all of us, in all things. 
 Dante is the spokesman of the Mid- 
 dle Ages ; the Thought they lived by 
 stands here, in everlasting music. These 
 sublime ideas of his, terrible and beauti- 
 ful, are the fruit of the Christian Medi- 
 tation of all the good men who had 
 gone before him. Precious they ; but 
 also is not he precious ? Much, had 
 not he spoken, would have been dumb; 
 not dead, yet living voiceless. 
 
 On the whole, is it not an utterance, 
 this mystic Song, at once of one of the 
 greatest human souls, and of the highest 
 thing that Europe had hitherto realized 
 for itself? Christianism, as Dante sings 
 it, is another than Paganism in the rude 
 
 Norse mind ; another than " Bastard 
 Christianism " half-articulately spoken 
 in the Arab Desert, seven hundred 
 years before! — The noblest idea made 
 real hitherto among men, is sung, and" 
 emblemed forth abidingly, by one of 
 the noblest men. In the one sense 
 and in the other, are we not right glad 
 to possess it ? As I calculate, it may 
 last yet for long thousands of years. 
 For the thing that is uttered from the 
 inmost parts of a man's soul differs 
 altogether from what is uttered by the 
 outer part. The outer is of the day, 
 under the empire of mode ; the outer 
 passes away, in swift endless changes ; 
 the inmost is the same yesterday, to- 
 day, and forever. True souls, in all 
 generations of the world, who look on 
 this Dante, will find a brotherhood 
 in him ; the deep sincerity of his 
 thoughts, his woes and hopes, will 
 speak likewise to their sincerity ; they 
 will feel that this Dante too was a 
 brother. Napoleon in Saint Helena is 
 charmed with the genial veracity of old 
 Homer. The oldest Hebrew Prophet, 
 under a vesture the most diverse from 
 ours, does yet, because he speaks from 
 the heart of man, speak to all men's 
 hearts. It is the one sole secret of 
 continuing long memorable. Dante, 
 for depth of sincerity, is like an antique 
 Prophet too ; his words, like theirs, 
 come from his very heart. One need 
 not wonder if it were predicted that 
 his Poem might be the most enduring 
 thing our Europe has yet made ; for 
 nothing so endures as a truly spoken 
 word. All cathedrals, pontificalities, 
 
Dante 
 
 375 
 
 brass and stone, and outer arrangement still of importance to men, when these 
 
 never so lasting, are brief in compari- had all sunk into new irrecognizable 
 
 son to an unfathomable heart-song like combinations, and had ceased individu- 
 
 this : one feels as if it might survive, ally to be. 
 
 D ANTE 
 
 From the Essays of T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 The beginning of the thirteenth 
 century was, as Machiavelli has re- 
 marked, the era of a great revival of 
 this extraordinary system. The policy 
 of Innocent, — the growth of the In- 
 quisition and the mendicant orders, — 
 the wars against the Albigenses, the 
 Pagans of the East, and the unfortunate 
 princes of the house of Swabia, agitated 
 Italy during the two following genera- 
 tions. In this point Dante was com- 
 pletely under the influence of his age. 
 He was a man of a turbid and melan- 
 choly spirit. In early youth he had 
 entertained a strong and unfortunate pas- 
 sion, which, long after the death of her 
 whom he loved, continued to haunt 
 him. Dissipation, ambition, misfor- 
 tunes, had not effaced it. He was not 
 only a sincere, but a passionate, be- 
 liever. The crimes and abuses of the 
 Church of Rome were indeed loath- 
 some to him ; but to all its doctrines 
 and all its rites he adhered with enthu- 
 siastic fondness and veneration ; and 
 at length, driven from his native coun- 
 try, reduced to a situation the most 
 painful to a man of his disposition, 
 condemned to learn by experience that 
 
 no food is so bitter as the bread of de- 
 pendence, and no ascent so painful as 
 the staircase of a patron, his wound- 
 ed spirit took refuge in visionary devo- 
 tion. Beatrice, the unforgotten object 
 of his early tenderness, was invested 
 by his imagination with glorious and 
 mysterious attributes ; she was en- 
 throned among the highest of the celes- 
 tial hierarchy : Almighty Wisdom had 
 assigned to her the care of the sinful 
 and unhappy wanderer who had loved 
 her with such a perfect love. By a 
 confusion, like that which often takes 
 place in dreams, he has sometimes lost 
 sight of her human nature, and even of 
 her personal existence, and seems to 
 consider her as one of the attributes of 
 the Deity. 
 
 But those religious hopes which had 
 released the mind of the sublime en- 
 thusiast from the terrors of death had 
 not rendered his speculations on human 
 life more cheerful. This is an incon- 
 sistency which may often be observed 
 in men of a similar temperament. He 
 hoped for happiness beyond the grave: 
 but he felt none on earth. It is from 
 this cause, more than from any other, 
 
376 
 
 I [lustrations 
 
 that his description of Heaven is so far 
 inferior to the Hell or the Purgatory. 
 With the passions and miseries of the 
 suffering spirits he feels a strong sym- 
 pathy. But among the beatified he 
 appears as one who has nothing in 
 common with them, — as one who is 
 incapable of comprehending, not only 
 the degree, but the nature of their en- 
 joyment. We think that we see him 
 standing amidst those smiling and radi- 
 ant spirits with that scowl of unuttera- 
 ble misery on his brow, and that curl 
 of bitter disdain on his lips, which 
 all his portraits have preserved, and 
 which might furnish Chantrey with 
 hints for the head of his projected 
 Satan. 
 
 There is no poet whose intellectual 
 and moral character are so closely con- 
 nected. The great source, as it ap- 
 pears to me, of the power of the Di- 
 vine Comedy is the strong belief with 
 which the story seems to be told. In 
 this respect, the only books which ap- 
 proach to its excellence are Gulliver's 
 Travels and Robinson Crusoe. The 
 solemnity of his asseverations, the con- 
 sistency and minuteness of his details, 
 the earnestness with which he labors 
 to make the reader understand the 
 exact shape and size of everything that 
 he describes, give an air of reality to 
 his wildest fictions. I should only 
 weaken this statement by quoting in- 
 stances of a feeling which pervades the 
 whole work, and to which it owes 
 much of its fascination. This is the 
 real justification of the many passages 
 in his poem which bad critics have 
 
 condemned as grotesque. I am con- 
 cerned to see that Mr. Cary, to whom 
 Dante owes more than ever poet owed 
 to translator, has sanctioned an accusa- 
 tion utterly unworthy of his abilities. 
 " His solicitude," says that gentleman, 
 " to define all his images in such a 
 manner as to bring them within the 
 circle of our vision, and to subject 
 them to the power of the pencil, ren- 
 ders him little better than grotesque, 
 where Milton has since taught us to ex- 
 pect sublimity." It is true that Dante 
 has never shrunk from embodying his 
 conceptions in determinate words, that 
 he has even given measures and num- 
 bers, where Milton would have left his 
 images to float undefined in a gorgeous 
 haze of language. Both were right. 
 Milton did not profess to have been in 
 heaven or hell. He might therefore 
 reasonably confine himself to magnifi- 
 cent generalities. Far different was 
 the office of the lonely traveller, who 
 had wandered through the nations of 
 the dead. Had he described the abode 
 of the rejected spirits in language re- 
 sembling the splendid lines of the Eng- 
 lish poet, — had he told us of 
 
 "An universe of death, which God by curse 
 Created evil, for evil only good, 
 Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature 
 
 breeds 
 Perverse all monstrous, all prodigious things, 
 Abominable, unutterable, and worse 
 Than fables yet have feigned, or fear con- 
 ceived, 
 Gorgons, and hydras, and chimasras dire," — 
 
 this would doubtless have been noble 
 writing. But where would have been 
 that strong impression of reality, which, 
 
Dante 
 
 377 
 
 in accordance with his plan, it should 
 have been his great object to produce ? 
 It was absolutely necessary for him to 
 delineate accurately "all monstrous, all 
 prodigious things," — to utter what 
 might to others appear " unutterable," 
 — to relate with the air of truth what 
 fables had never feigned, — to embody 
 what fear had never conceived. And 
 I will frankly confess that the vague 
 sublimity of Milton affects me less than 
 these reviled details of Dante. We 
 read Milton ; and we know that we 
 are reading a great poet. When we 
 read Dante, the poet vanishes. We 
 are listening to the man who has re- 
 turned from " the valley of the dolo- 
 rous abyss"; — we seem to see the 
 dilated eye of horror, to hear the shud- 
 dering accents with which he tells his 
 fearful tale. Considered in this light, 
 the narratives are exactly what they 
 should be, — definite in themselves, but 
 suggesting to the mind ideas of awful 
 and indefinite wonder. They are made 
 up of the images of the earth : they 
 are told in the language of the earth. 
 Yet the whole effect is, beyond ex- 
 pression, wild and unearthly. The 
 fact is, that supernatural beings, as long 
 as they are considered merely with 
 reference to their own nature, excite 
 our feelings very feebly. It is when 
 the great gulf which separates them 
 from us is passed, when we suspect 
 some strange and undefinable relation 
 between the laws of the visible and 
 the invisible world, that they rouse, 
 perhaps, the strongest emotions of 
 which our nature is capable. How 
 
 VOL. II. A& 
 
 many children, and how many men, 
 are afraid of ghosts, who are not afraid 
 of God ! And this, because, though 
 they entertain a much stronger convic- 
 tion of the existence of a Deity than 
 of the reality of apparitions, they have 
 no apprehension that he will manifest 
 himself to them in any sensible man- 
 ner. While this is the case, to de- 
 scribe superhuman beings in the lan- 
 guage, and to attribute to them the 
 actions of humanity, may be grotesque, 
 unphilosophical, inconsistent ; but it 
 will be the only mode of working upon 
 the feelings of men, and therefore the 
 only mode suited for poetry. Shake- 
 speare understood this well, as he un- 
 derstood everything that belonged to 
 his art. Who does not sympathize 
 with the rapture of Ariel, flying after 
 sunset on the wings of the bat, or 
 sucking in the cups of flowers with 
 the bee ? Who does not shudder at 
 the caldron of Macbeth ? Where is 
 the philosopher who is not moved 
 when he thinks of the strange connec- 
 tion between the infernal spirits and 
 " the sow's blood that hath eaten her 
 nine farrow " ? But this difficult task 
 of representing supernatural beings to 
 our minds in a manner which shall be 
 neither unintelligible to our intellects, 
 nor wholly inconsistent with our ideas 
 of their nature, has never been so well 
 performed as bv Dante. I will refer 
 to three instances, which are, perhaps, 
 the most striking; — the description of 
 the transformation of the serpents and 
 the robbers, in the twenty-fifth canto 
 of the Inferno, — the passage concern- 
 
37% 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 ing Nimrod, in the thirty-first canto of 
 the same part, — and the magnificent 
 procession in the twenty-ninth canto 
 of the Purgatorio. 
 
 The metaphors and comparisons of 
 Dante harmonize admirably with that 
 air of strong reality of which I have 
 spoken. They have a very peculiar 
 character. He is perhaps the only 
 poet whose writings become much less 
 intelligible if all illustrations of this 
 sort were expunged. His similes are 
 frequently rather those of a traveller 
 than of a poet. He employs them not 
 to display his ingenuity by fanciful 
 analogies, — not to delight the reader 
 by affording him a distant and passing 
 glimpse of beautiful images remote from 
 the path in which he is proceeding, — 
 but to give an exact idea of the objects 
 which he is describing, by comparing 
 them with others generally known. 
 The boiling pitch in Malebolge was 
 like that in the Venetian arsenal ; — 
 the mound on which he travelled along 
 the banks of Phlegethon was like that 
 between Ghent and Bruges, but not so 
 large ; — the cavities where the Simo- 
 niacal prelates are confined resembled 
 the fonts in the Church of John at 
 Florence. Every reader of Dante will 
 recall many other illustrations of this 
 description, which add to the appear- 
 ance of sincerity and earnestness from 
 which the narrative derives so much of 
 its interest. 
 
 Many of his comparisons, again, are 
 intended to give an exact idea of his 
 feelings under particular circumstances. 
 The delicate shades of grief, of fear, of 
 
 anger, are rarely discriminated with 
 sufficient accuracy in the language of 
 the most refined nations. A rude dia- 
 lect never abounds in nice distinctions 
 of this kind. Dante therefore employs 
 the most accurate and infinitely the 
 most poetical mode of marking the pre- 
 cise state of his mind. Every person 
 who has experienced the bewildering 
 effect of sudden bad tidings, — the 
 stupefaction, — the vague doubt of the 
 truth of our own perceptions which 
 they produce, — will understand the 
 following simile: — "I was as he is 
 who dreameth his own* harm, — who, 
 dreaming, wishes that it may be all a 
 dream, so that he desires that which is 
 as though it were not." This is only 
 one out of a hundred equally striking 
 and expressive similitudes. The com- 
 parisons of Homer and Milton are mag- 
 nificent digressions. It scarcely injures 
 their effect to detach them from the 
 work. Those of Dante are very dif- 
 ferent. They derive their beauty from 
 the context, and reflect beauty upon it. 
 His embroidery cannot be taken out 
 without spoiling the whole web. I 
 cannot dismiss this part of the subject 
 without advising every person who can 
 muster sufficient Italian to read the 
 simile of the sheep, in the third canto 
 of the Purgatorio. I think it the most 
 perfect passage of the kind in the 
 world, the most imaginative, the most 
 picturesque, and the most sweetly ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 No person can have attended to the 
 Divine Comedy without observing how 
 little impression the forms of the ex- 
 
Dante 
 
 379 
 
 ternal world appear to have made on 
 the mind of Dante. His temper and 
 his situation had led him to fix his ob- 
 servation almost exclusively on human 
 nature. The exquisite opening of the 
 eighth canto of the Purgatorio affords 
 a strong instance of this. He leaves 
 to others the earth, the ocean, and the 
 sky. His business is with man. To 
 other writers, evening may be the sea- 
 son of dews and stars and radiant 
 clouds. To Dante it is the hour of 
 fond recollection and passionate devo- 
 tion, — the hour which melts the heart 
 of the mariner and kindles the love of 
 the pilgrim, — the hour when the toll 
 of the bell seems to mourn for another 
 day, which is gone and will return no 
 more. 
 
 The feeling of the present age has 
 taken a direction diametrically oppo- 
 site. The magnificence of the physi- 
 cal world, and its influence upon the 
 human mind, have been the favorite 
 themes of our most eminent poets. 
 The herd of blue-stocking ladies and 
 sonneteering gentlemen seems to con- 
 sider a strong sensibility to the "splen- 
 dor of the grass, the glory of the flow- 
 er," as an ingredient absolutely indis- 
 pensable in the formation of a poetical 
 mind. They treat with contempt all 
 writers who are unfortunately 
 " nee ponere lucum 
 Artifices, nee rus saturum laudare." 
 
 The orthodox poetical creed is more 
 Catholic. The noblest earthly object 
 of the contemplation of man is man 
 himself. The universe, and all its fair 
 and glorious forms, are indeed included 
 
 in the wide empire of the imagination; 
 but she has placed her home and her 
 sanctuary amidst the inexhaustible va- 
 rieties and the impenetrable mysteries 
 of the mind. 
 
 " In tutte parti impera, e quivi regge ; 
 Quivi e la sua cittade, e 1' alto seggio." 
 
 Othello is perhaps the greatest work in 
 the world. From what does it derive 
 its power ? From the clouds ? From 
 the ocean? From the mountains? Or 
 from love strong as death, and jeal- 
 ousy cruel as the grave ! What is it 
 that we go forth to see in Hamlet ? 
 Is it a reed shaken with the wind ? 
 A small celandine ? A bed of daf- 
 fodils ? Or is it to contemplate a 
 mighty and wayward mind laid bare 
 before us to the inmost recesses ? It 
 may perhaps be doubted whether the 
 lakes and the hills are better fitted for 
 the education of a poet than the dusky 
 streets of a huge capital. Indeed, who 
 is not tired to death with pure descrip- 
 tion of scenery ? Is it not the fact, 
 that external objects never strongly 
 excite our feelings but when they are 
 contemplated in reference to man, as 
 illustrating his destiny, or as influen- 
 cing his character ? The most beauti- 
 ful object in the world, it will be 
 allowed, is a beautiful woman. But 
 who that can analyze his feelings is not 
 sensible that she owes her fascination 
 less to grace of outline and delicacy of 
 color, than to a thousand associations 
 which, often unperceived by ourselves, 
 connect those qualities with the source 
 of our existence, with the nourishment 
 of our infancy, with the passions of 
 
3 8o 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 our youth, with the hopes of our age, 
 with elegance, with vivacity, with ten- 
 derness, with the strongest of natural 
 instincts, with the dearest of social ties? 
 
 To those who think thus, the in- 
 sensibility of the Florentine poet to 
 the beauties of nature will not appear 
 an unpardonable deficiency. On man- 
 kind no writer, with the exception of 
 Shakespeare, has looked with a more 
 penetrating eye. I have said that his 
 poetical character had derived a tinge 
 from his peculiar temper. It is on 
 the sterner and darker passions that he 
 delights to dwell. All love, -excepting 
 the half mystic passion which he still 
 felt for his buried Beatrice, had palled 
 on the fierce and restless exile. The 
 sad story of Rimini is almost a single 
 exception. I know not whether it has 
 been remarked, that, in one point, mis- 
 anthropy seems to have afFected his 
 mind as it did that of Swift. Nause- 
 ous and revolting images seem to have 
 had a fascination for his mind ; and he 
 repeatedly places before his readers, 
 with all the energy of his incompara- 
 ble style, the most loathsome objects 
 of the sewer and the dissecting-room. 
 
 There is another peculiarity in the 
 poem of Dante, which, I think, de- 
 serves notice. Ancient mythology has 
 hardly ever been successfully inter- 
 woven with modern poetry. One class 
 of writers have introduced the fabulous 
 deities merely as allegorical representa- 
 tives of love, wine, or wisdom. This 
 necessarily renders their works tame 
 and cold. We may sometimes admire 
 their ingenuity; but with what interest 
 
 can we read of beings of whose per- 
 sonal existence the writer does not suf- 
 fer us to entertain, for a moment, even 
 a conventional belief? Even Spenser's 
 allegory is scarcely tolerable, till we 
 contrive to forget that Una signifies 
 innocence, and consider her merely as 
 an oppressed lady under the protection 
 of a generous knight. 
 
 Those writers who have, more judi- 
 ciously, attempted to preserve the per- 
 sonality of the classical divinities have 
 failed from a different cause. They 
 have been imitators, and imitators at a 
 disadvantage. Euripides and Catullus 
 believed in Bacchus and Cybele as little 
 as we do. But they lived among men 
 who did. Their imaginations, if not 
 their opinions, took the color of the 
 age. Hence the glorious inspiration 
 of the Bacchas and the Atys. Our 
 minds are formed by circumstances : 
 and I do not believe that it would be 
 in the power of the greatest modern 
 poet to lash himself up to a degree of 
 enthusiasm adequate to the production 
 of such works. 
 
 Dante alone, among the poets of 
 later times, has been, in this respect, 
 neither an allegorist nor an imitator ; 
 and, consequently, he alone has intro- 
 duced the ancient fictions with effect. 
 His Minos, his Charon, his Pluto, are 
 absolutely terrific. Nothing can be 
 more beautiful or original than the 
 use which he has made of the river 
 of Lethe. He has never assigned to 
 his mythological characters any func- 
 tions inconsistent with the creed of 
 the Catholic Church. He has relat- 
 
Dante 
 
 ^8i 
 
 ed nothing concerning them which a 
 good Christian of that age might not 
 believe possible. On this account, 
 there is nothing in these passages that 
 appears puerile or pedantic. On the 
 contrary, this singular use of classical 
 names suggests to the mind a vague and 
 awful idea of some mysterious revela- 
 tion, anterior to all recorded history, 
 of which the dispersed fragments might 
 have been retained amidst the impos- 
 tures and superstitions of later religions. 
 Indeed the mythology of the Divine 
 Comedy is of the elder and more co- 
 lossal mould. It breathes the spirit of 
 Homer and ^schylus, not of Ovid and 
 Claudian. 
 
 This is the more extraordinary, since 
 Dante seems to have been utterly igno- 
 rant of the Greek language ; and his 
 favorite Latin models could only have 
 served to mislead him. Indeed, it is 
 impossible not to remark his admira- 
 tion of writers far inferior to himself; 
 and, in particular, his idolatry of Vir- 
 gil, who, elegant and splendid as he is, 
 has no pretensions to the depth and 
 originality of mind which characterize 
 his Tuscan worshipper. In truth, it 
 may be laid down as an almost univer- 
 sal rule that good poets are bad critics. 
 Their minds are under the tyranny of 
 ten thousand associations impercepti- 
 ble to others. The worst writer may 
 easily happen to touch a spring which 
 is connected in their minds with a long 
 succession of beautiful images. They 
 are like the gigantic slaves of Aladdin, 
 gifted with matchless power, but bound 
 by spells so mighty that, when a child 
 
 whom they could have crushed touched 
 a talisman, of whose secret he was igno- 
 rant, they immediately became his vas- 
 sals. It has more than once happened 
 to me to see minds, graceful and ma- 
 jestic as the Titania of Shakespeare, 
 bewitched by the charms of an ass's 
 head, bestowing on it the fondest ca- 
 resses, and crowning it with the sweet- 
 est flowers. I need only mention the 
 poems attributed to Ossian. They are 
 utterly worthless, except as an edifying 
 instance of the success of a story with- 
 out evidence, and of a book without 
 merit. They are a chaos of words 
 which present no image, of images 
 which have no archetype ; — they are 
 without form and void ; and darkness 
 is upon the face of them. Yet how 
 many men of genius have panegyrized 
 and imitated them ! 
 
 The style of Dante is, if not his high- 
 est, perhaps his most peculiar excel- 
 lence. I know nothing with which it 
 can be compared. The noblest models 
 of Greek composition must yield to it. 
 His words are the fewest and the best 
 which it is possible to use. The first 
 expression in which he clothes his 
 thoughts is always so energetic and 
 comprehensive, that amplification would 
 only injure the effect. There is prob- 
 ably no writer in any language who 
 has presented so many strong pictures 
 to the mind. Yet there is probably no 
 writer equally concise. This perfec- 
 tion of style is the principal merit of 
 the Paradiso, which, as I have already 
 remarked, is by no means equal in 
 other respects to the two preceding 
 
3 82 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 parts of the poem. The force and 
 felicity of the diction, however, irresist- 
 ibly attract the reader through the 
 theological lectures and the sketches of 
 ecclesiastical biography, with which 
 this division of the work too much 
 abounds. It may seem almost absurd 
 to quote particular specimens of an 
 excellence which is diffused over all 
 his hundred cantos. I will, however, 
 instance the third canto of the Inferno, 
 and the sixth of the Purgatorio, as pas- 
 
 sages incomparable in their kind. The 
 merit of the latter is, perhaps, rather 
 oratorical than poetical ; nor can I rec- 
 ollect anything in the great Athenian 
 speeches which equals it in force of 
 invective and bitterness of sarcasm. I 
 have heard the most eloquent statesman 
 of the age remark that, next to Demos- 
 thenes, Dante is the writer who ought 
 to be most attentively studied by every 
 man who desires to attain oratorical 
 eminence. 
 
 DANTE AND MILTON. 
 
 From the Essays of T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 The only poem of modern times 
 which can be compared with the 
 Paradise Lost is the Divine Comedy. 
 The subject of Milton, in some points, 
 resembled that of Dante ; but he has 
 treated it in a widely different manner. 
 We cannot, we think, better illustrate 
 our opinion respecting our own great 
 poet, than by contrasting him with the 
 father of Tuscan literature. 
 
 The poetry of Milton differs from 
 that of Dante, as the hieroglyphics of 
 Egypt differed from the picture-writ- 
 ing of Mexico. The images which 
 Dante employs speak for themselves ; 
 they stand simply for what they are. 
 Those of Milton have a signification 
 which is often discernible only to the 
 initiated. Their value depends less on 
 what they directly represent than on 
 what they remotely suggest. How- 
 
 ever strange, however grotesque, may 
 be the appearance which Dante under- 
 takes to describe, he never shrinks from 
 describing it. He gives us the shape, 
 the color, the sound, the smell, the 
 taste ; he counts the numbers ; he 
 measures the size. His similes are the 
 illustrations of a traveller. Unlike 
 those of other poets, and especially of 
 Milton, they are introduced in a plain, 
 business-like manner ; not for the sake 
 of any beauty in the objects from which 
 they are drawn ; not for the sake of 
 any ornament which they may impart 
 to the poem ; but simply in order to 
 make the meaning of the writer as clear 
 to the reader as it is to himself. The 
 ruins of the precipice which led from 
 the sixth to the seventh circle of hell 
 were like those of the rock which fell 
 into the Adige on the south of Trent. 
 
Dante and Milton 
 
 383 
 
 The cataract of Phlegethon was like 
 that of Aqua Cheta at the monastery 
 of St. Benedict. The place where 
 the heretics were confined in burning 
 tombs resembled the vast cemetery of 
 Aries. 
 
 Now let us compare with the exact 
 details of Dante the dim intimations of 
 Milton. We will cite a few examples. 
 The English poet has never thought of 
 taking the measure of Satan. He gives 
 us merely a vague idea of vast bulk. 
 In one passage the fiend lies stretched 
 out huge in length, floating many a 
 rood, equal in size to the earth-born 
 enemies of Jove, or to the sea-monster 
 which the mariner mistakes for an 
 island. When he addresses himself to 
 battle against the guardian angels, he 
 stands like TenerifFe or Atlas: his stat- 
 ure reaches the sky. Contrast with 
 these descriptions the lines in which 
 Dante has described the gigantic spectre 
 of Nimrod. " His face seemed to me 
 as long and as broad as the ball of St. 
 Peter's at Rome ; and his other limbs 
 were in proportion ; so that the bank 
 which concealed him from the waist 
 downwards nevertheless showed so 
 much of him, that three tall Germans 
 would in vain have attempted to reach 
 to his hair." We are sensible that we 
 do no justice to the admirable style of 
 the Florentine poet. But Mr. Cary's 
 translation is not at hand ; and our ver- 
 sion, however rude, is sufficient to illus- 
 trate our meaning. 
 
 Once more, compare the lazar-house 
 in the eleventh book of the Paradise 
 Lost with the last ward of Malebolge in 
 
 Dante. Milton avoids the loathsome 
 details, and takes refuge in indistinct 
 but solemn and tremendous imagery, 
 Despair hurrying from couch to couch 
 to mock the wretches with his attend- 
 ance, Death shaking his dart over 
 them, but, in spite of supplications, 
 delaying to strike. What says Dante ? 
 " There was such a moan there as 
 there would be if all the sick who, 
 between July and September, are in 
 the hospitals of Valdichiana, and of 
 the Tuscan swamps, and of Sardinia, 
 were in one pit together ; and such a 
 stench was issuing forth as is wont to 
 issue from decayed limbs." 
 
 We will not take upon ourselves the 
 invidious office of settling precedency 
 between two such writers. Each in 
 his own department is incomparable ; 
 and each, we may remark, has wisely, 
 or fortunately, taken a subject adapted 
 to exhibit his peculiar talent to the 
 greatest advantage. The Divine Com- 
 edy is a personal narrative. Dante is 
 the eye-witness and ear-witness of that 
 which he relates. He is the very man 
 who has heard the tormented spirits 
 crying out for the second death, who 
 has read the dusky characters on the 
 portal within which there is no hope, 
 who has hidden his face from the ter- 
 rors of the Gorgon, who has fled from 
 the hooks and the seething pitch of 
 Barbariccia and Draghignazzo. His 
 own hands have grasped the shaggy 
 sides of Lucifer. His own feet have 
 climbed the mountain of expiation. 
 His own brow has been marked by the 
 purifying angel. The reader would 
 
3 §4 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 throw aside such a tale in incredulous 
 disgust, unless it were told with the 
 strongest air of veracity, with a sobriety- 
 even in its horrors, with the greatest 
 precision and multiplicity in its details. 
 The narrative of Milton in this respect 
 differs from that of Dante, as the ad- 
 ventures of Amadis differ from those 
 
 of Gulliver 
 
 Poetry which relates to the beings 
 of another world ought to be at once 
 mysterious and picturesque. That of 
 Milton is so. That of Dante is pictu- 
 resque indeed beyond any that ever was 
 written. Its effect approaches to that 
 produced by the pencil or the chisel. 
 But it is picturesque to the exclusion 
 of all mystery. This is a fault on the 
 right side, a fault inseparable from the 
 plan of Dante's poem, which, as we 
 have already observed, rendered the 
 utmost accuracy of description neces- 
 sary. Still it is a fault. The super- 
 natural agents excite an interest ; but 
 
 it is not the interest which is proper 
 to supernatural agents. We feel that 
 we could talk to the ghosts and demons 
 without any emotion of unearthly awe. 
 We could, like Don Juan, ask them to 
 supper, and eat heartily in their com- 
 pany. Dante's angels are good men 
 with wings. His devils are spiteful, 
 ugly executioners. His dead men are 
 merely living men in strange situations. 
 The scene which passes between the 
 poet and Farinata is justly celebrated. 
 Still, Farinata in the burning tomb is 
 exactly what Farinata would have been 
 at an auto da fe. Nothing can be more 
 touching than the first interview of 
 Dante and Beatrice. Yet what is it 
 but a lovely woman chiding, with sweet, 
 austere composure, the lover for whose 
 affection she is grateful, but whose vices 
 she reprobates ? The feelings which 
 give the passage its charm would suit 
 the streets of Florence as well as the 
 summit of the Mount of Purgatory. 
 
 THE ITALIAN P I LG R I M> S PROGRESS. 
 
 Leich Hunt's Stories from the Italian Poets. 
 
 Dante entitled the saddest poem in 
 the world a Comedy, because it was 
 written in a middle style; though some, 
 by a strange confusion of ideas, think 
 the reason must have been because it 
 " ended happily ! " that is, because be- 
 ginning with hell (to some), it termi- 
 nated with "heaven" (to others). As 
 well might they have said, that a morn- 
 
 ing's work in the Inquisition ended 
 happily, because, while people were 
 being racked in the dungeons, the of- 
 ficers were making merry in the draw- 
 ing-room. For the much-injured epi- 
 thet of " Divine," Dante's memory is 
 not responsible. He entitled his poem, 
 arrogantly enough, yet still not with 
 that impiety of arrogance, "The Com- 
 
The Italian Pilgrims Progress 385 
 
 edy of Dante Alighieri, a Florentine by- 
 nation, but not by habits." The word 
 " divine " was added by some tran- 
 scriber; and it heaped absurdity on ab- 
 surdity, too much of it, alas ! being 
 literally infernal tragedy. I am not 
 speaking in mockery, any further than 
 the fact itself cannot help so speaking. 
 I respect what is to be respected in 
 Dante ; I admire in him what is ad- 
 mirable ; would love (if his infernali- 
 ties would let me) what is lovable ; 
 but this must not hinder one of the 
 human race from protesting against 
 what is erroneous in his fame, when it 
 jars against every best feeling, human 
 and divine. Mr. Gary thinks that 
 Dante had as much right to avail him- 
 self of " the popular creed in all its 
 extravagance," as Homer had of his 
 gods, or Shakespeare of his fairies. 
 But the distinction is obvious. Homer 
 did not personally identify himself with 
 a creed, or do his utmost to perpetuate 
 the worst parts of it in behalf of a 
 ferocious inquisitorial church, and to 
 the risk of endangering the peace of 
 millions of gentle minds. 
 
 The great poem thus misnomercd is 
 partly a system of theology, partly an 
 abstract of the knowledge of the day, 
 but chiefly a series of passionate and 
 imaginative pictures, altogether forming 
 an account of the author's times, his 
 friends, his enemies, and himself, writ- 
 ten to vent the spleen of his exile, and 
 the rest of his feelings, good and bad, 
 and to reform church and state by 
 a spirit of resentment and obloquy, 
 which highly needed reform itself. It 
 
 vol. 11. 49 
 
 has also a design strictly self-referential. 
 The author feigns that the beatified 
 spirit of his mistress has obtained leave 
 to warn and purify his soul by showing 
 him the state of things in the next 
 world. She deputes the soul of his 
 master Virgil to conduct him through 
 hell and purgatory, and then takes him 
 herself through the spheres of heaven, 
 where St. Peter catechises and confirms 
 him, and where he is finally honored 
 with sights of the Virgin Mary, of 
 Christ, and even a glimpse of the Su- 
 preme Being ! 
 
 His hell, considered as a place, is, 
 to speak geologically, a most fantastical 
 formation. It descends from beneath 
 Jerusalem to the centre of the earth, 
 and is a funnel graduated in circles, 
 each circle being a separate place of 
 torment for a different vice or its co- 
 ordinates, and the point of the funnel 
 terminating with Satan stuck into ice. 
 Purgatory is a corresponding mountain 
 on the other side of the globe, com- 
 mencing with the antipodes of Jerusa- 
 lem, and divided into exterior circles 
 of expiation, which end in a table-land 
 forming the terrestrial paradise. From 
 this the hero and his mistress ascend 
 by a flight, exquisitely conceived, to 
 the stars ; where the sun and the plan- 
 ets of the Ptolemaic system (for the 
 true one was unknown in Dante's time) 
 form a series of heavens for different 
 virtues, the whole terminating in the 
 empyrean, or region of pure light, and 
 the presence of the Beatific Vision. 
 
 The boundaries of old and new, 
 strange as it may now seem to us, 
 
3 86 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 were so confused in those days, and 
 books were so rare, and the Latin poets 
 held in such invincible reverence, that 
 Dante, in one and the same poem, 
 speaks of the false gods of Paganism, 
 and yet retains much of its lower my- 
 thology ; nay, invokes Apollo himself 
 at the door of paradise. There was, 
 perhaps, some mystical and even philo- 
 sophical inclusion of the past in this 
 medley, as recognizing the constant 
 superintendence of Providence ; but 
 that Dante partook of what may be 
 called the literary superstition of the 
 time, even for want of better knowl- 
 edge, is clear from the grave historical 
 use he makes of poetic fables in his 
 treatise on Monarchy, and in the very 
 arguments which he puts into the 
 mouths of saints and apostles. There 
 are lingering feelings to this effect even 
 now among the peasantry of Italy ; 
 where, the reader need not be told, 
 Pagan customs of all sorts, including 
 religious and most reverend ones, are 
 existing under the sanction of other 
 names, — heathenisms christened. A 
 Tuscan postilion, once enumerating to 
 me some of the native poets, concluded 
 his list with Apollo; and a plaster-cast 
 man over here, in London, appeared 
 much puzzled, when conversing on the 
 subject with a friend of mine, how to 
 discrepate Samson from Hercules. 
 
 Dante, accordingly, while, with the 
 frightful bigotry of the schools, he puts 
 the whole Pagan world into hell-borders, 
 (with the exception of two or three, 
 whose salvation adds to the absurdity,) 
 mingles the hell of Virgil with that of 
 
 Tertullian and St. Dominic ; sets Mi- 
 nos at the door as judge ; retains Cha- 
 ron in his old office of boatman over 
 the Stygian lake ; puts fabulous people 
 with real among the damned, Dido, 
 and Cacus, and Ephialtes, with Ezze- 
 lino and Pope Nicholas the Fifth; and 
 associates the Centaurs and the Furies 
 with the agents of diabolical torture. 
 It has pleased him also to elevate Cato 
 of Utica to the office of warder of pur- 
 gatory, though the censor's poor, good 
 wife, Marcia, is detained in the regions 
 below. By these and other far greater 
 inconsistencies, the whole place of pun- 
 ishment becomes a reductio ad absur- 
 dum, as ridiculous as it is melancholy ; 
 so that one is astonished how so great 
 a man, and especially a man who 
 thought himself so far advanced beyond 
 his age, and who possessed such powers 
 of discerning the good and beautiful, 
 could endure to let his mind live in so 
 foul and foolish a region for any length 
 of time, and there wreak and harden 
 the unworthiest of his passions. Ge- 
 nius, nevertheless, is so commensurate 
 with absurdity throughout the book, 
 and there are even such sweet and balmy 
 as well as sublime pictures in it occa- 
 sionally, nay often, that not only will 
 the poem ever be worthy of admiration, 
 but, when those increasing purifications 
 of Christianity which our blessed re- 
 formers began shall finally precipitate 
 the whole dregs of the author into the 
 mythology to which they belong, the 
 world will derive a pleasure from it to 
 an amount not to be conceived till the 
 arrival of that day. Dante, meantime, 
 
The Italian Pilgrim! s Progress 387 
 
 with an impartiality which has been 
 admired by those who can approve the 
 assumption of a theological tyranny at 
 the expense of common feeling and 
 decency, has put friends as well as foes 
 into hell, — tutors of his childhood, 
 kinsmen of those who treated him 
 hospitably, even the father of his be- 
 loved friend, Guido Cavalcante 
 
 Milton has spoken of the " milder 
 shades of Purgatory " ; and truly they 
 possess great beauties. Even in a theo- 
 logical point of view they are some- 
 thing like a bit of Christian refresh- 
 ment after the horrors of the Inferno. 
 The first emerging from the hideous 
 gulf to the sight of the blue serenity of 
 heaven is painted in a manner inex- 
 pressibly charming. So is the sea- 
 shore with the coming of the angel ; 
 the valley, with the angels in green ; 
 the repose at night on the rocks ; and 
 twenty other pictures of gentleness and 
 love. And yet special and great has 
 been the escape of the Protestant world 
 from this part of Roman Catholic be- 
 lief; for Purgatory is the heaviest stone 
 that hangs about the neck of the old 
 and feeble in that communion. Hell 
 is avoidable by repentance; but Pur- 
 gatory what modest conscience shall 
 escape ? Mr. Cary, in a note on a 
 passage in which Dante recommends 
 his readers to think on what follows 
 this expiatory state, rather than what 
 is suffered there, looks upon the poet's 
 injunction as an " unanswerable objec- 
 tion to the doctrine of purgatory," it 
 being difficult to conceive " how the 
 best can meet death without horror, 
 
 if they believe it must be followed 
 by immediate and intense suffering." 
 Luckily, assent is not belief; and man- 
 kind's feelings are for the most part 
 superior to their opinions ; otherwise 
 the world would have been in a bad 
 way indeed, and Nature not been vin- 
 dicated of her children. But let us 
 watch and be on our guard against all 
 resuscitations of superstition. 
 
 As to our Florentine's Heaven, it is 
 full of beauties also, though sometimes 
 of a more questionable and pantomimi- 
 cal sort than is to be found in either 
 of the other books. I shall speak of 
 some of them presently; but the gen- 
 eral impression of the place is, that it is 
 no heaven at all. He says it is, and 
 talks much of its smiles and its beati- 
 tude; but always excepting the poetry, 
 — especially the similes brought from 
 the more heavenly earth, — we realize 
 little but a fantastical assemblage of 
 doctors and doubtful characters, far 
 more angry and theological than celes- 
 tial ; giddy raptures of monks and in- 
 quisitors dancing in circles, and saints 
 denouncing popes and Florentines ; in 
 short, a heaven libelling itself with in- 
 vectives against earth, and terminating 
 in a great presumption 
 
 The people of Sienna, according to 
 this national and Christian poet, were 
 a parcel of coxcombs; those of Arezzo, 
 dogs ; and of Casentino, hogs. Lucca 
 made a trade of perjury. Pistoia was 
 a den of beasts, and ought to be re- 
 duced to ashes ; and the river Arno 
 should overflow and drown every soul 
 in Pisa. Almost all the women in 
 
388 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 Florence walked half naked in public, 
 and were abandoned in private. Every 
 brother, husband, son, and father, in 
 Bologna, set their women to sale. In 
 all Lombardy were not to be found 
 three men who were not rascals ; and 
 in Genoa and Romagna people went 
 about pretending to be men, but in re- 
 ality were bodies inhabited by devils, 
 their souls having gone to the " lowest 
 pit of hell " to join the betrayers of 
 their friends and kinsmen. 
 
 So much for his beloved country- 
 men. As for foreigners, particularly 
 kings, Edward the First of England 
 and Robert of Scotland were a couple 
 of grasping fools ; the Emperor Albert 
 was an usurper ; Alphonso the Second 
 of Spain, a debauchee ; the King of 
 Bohemia, a coward; Frederick of Ara- 
 gon, a coward and miser ; the Kings 
 of Portugal and Norway, forgers ; the 
 King of Naples, a man whose virtues 
 were expressed by a unit, and his vices 
 by a million ; and the King of France, 
 the descendant of a Paris butcher, and 
 of progenitors who poisoned St. Thomas 
 Aquinas, their descendants conquering 
 with the arms of Judas rather than of 
 soldiers, and selling the flesh of their 
 daughters to old men, in order to ex- 
 tricate themselves from a danger 
 
 But truly it is said, that, when Dante 
 is great, nobody surpasses him. I doubt 
 if anybody equals him, as to the con- 
 stant intensity and incessant variety of 
 his pictures ; and whatever he paints, 
 he throws, as it were, upon its own 
 powers ; as though an artist should 
 draw figures that started into life, and 
 
 proceeded to action for themselves, 
 frightening their creator. Every mo- 
 tion, word, and look of these creatures 
 becomes full of sensibility and sugges- 
 tions. The invisible is at the back of 
 the visible ; darkness becomes palpable ; 
 silence describes a character, nay, forms 
 the most striking part of a story ; a 
 word acts as a flash of lightning, which 
 displays some gloomy neighborhood, 
 where a tower is standing, with dread- 
 ful faces at the window ; or where, at 
 your feet, full of eternal voices, one 
 abyss is beheld dropping out of another 
 
 in the lurid light of torment 
 
 Ginguene has remarked the singular 
 variety, as well as beauty, of Dante's 
 angels. Milton's, indeed, are common- 
 place in the comparison. In the eighth 
 canto of the Inferno, the devils inso- 
 lently refuse the poet and his guide an 
 entrance into the city of Dis. An 
 angel comes sweeping over the Stygian 
 lake to enforce it ; the noise of his 
 wings makes the shores tremble, and 
 is like a crashing whirlwind, such as 
 beats down the trees and sends the 
 peasants and their herds flying before 
 it. The heavenly messenger, after re- 
 buking the devils, touches the portals 
 of the city with his wand ; they fly 
 open ; and he returns the way he came 
 without uttering a word to the two 
 companions. His face was that of one 
 occupied with other thoughts. This 
 angel is announced by a tempest. An- 
 other, who brings the souls of the de- 
 parted to Purgatory, is first discovered 
 at a distance, gradually disclosing white 
 splendors, which are his wings and 
 
The Italian Pilgrims Progress 389 
 
 garments. He comes in a boat, of 
 which his wings are the sails ; and as 
 he approaches, it is impossible to look 
 him in the face for its brightness. 
 Two other angels have green wings 
 and green garments, and the drapery is 
 kept in motion like a flag by the vehe- 
 ment action of the wings. A fifth has 
 a face like the morning star, casting 
 forth quivering beams. A sixth is of 
 a lustre so oppressive, that the poet 
 feels a weight on his eyes before he 
 knows what is coming. Another's 
 presence affects the senses like the fra- 
 grance of a May morning ; and an- 
 other is in garments dark as cinders, 
 but has a sword in his hand too spark- 
 ling to be gazed at. Dante's occasional 
 pictures of the beauties of external 
 nature are worthy of these angelic 
 creations, and to the last degree fresh 
 and lovely. You long to bathe your 
 eyes, smarting with the fumes of hell, 
 in his dews. You gaze enchanted on 
 his green fields and his celestial blue 
 skies, the more so from the pain and 
 sorrow in midst of which the visions 
 are created. 
 
 Dante's grandeur of every kind is 
 proportionate to that of his angels, al- 
 most to his ferocity; and that is saving 
 everything. It is not always the spir- 
 itual grandeur of Milton, the subjection 
 of the material impression to the moral; 
 but it is equally such when he chooses, 
 and far more abundant. His infernal 
 precipices — his black whirlwinds — 
 his innumerable cries and claspings of 
 hands — his very odors of huge loath- 
 someness — his giants at twilight stand- 
 
 ing up to the middle in pits, like 
 towers, and causing earthquakes when 
 they move — his earthquake of the 
 mountain in Purgatory, when a spirit 
 is set free for heaven — his dignified 
 Mantuan Sordello, silently regarding 
 him and his guide as they go by, "like 
 a lion on his watch" — his blasphemer, 
 Capaneus, lying in unconquered rage 
 and sullenness under an eternal rain of 
 flakes of fire (human precursor of Mil- 
 ton's Satan ) — his aspect of Paradise, 
 " as if the universe had smiled " — his 
 inhabitants of the whole planet Saturn 
 crying out so loud, in accordance with 
 the anti- Papal indignation of Saint 
 Pietro Damiano, that the poet, though 
 among them, could not hear what they 
 said — and the blushing eclipse, like 
 red clouds at sunset, which takes place 
 at the Apostle Peter's denunciation of 
 the sanguinary filth of the court of 
 Rome, — all these sublimities, and many 
 more, make us not know whether to 
 be more astonished at the greatness of 
 the poet or the raging littleness of the 
 man. Grievous is it to be forced to 
 bring two such opposites together ; 
 and I wish, for the honor and glory of 
 poetry, I did not feel compelled to do 
 so. But the swarthy Florentine had 
 not the healthy temperament of his 
 brethren, and he fell upon evil times. 
 Compared with Homer and Shake- 
 speare, his very intensity seems only 
 superior to theirs from an excess of the 
 morbid ; and he is inferior to both in 
 other sovereign qualities of poetry, — 
 to the one, in giving you the healthiest 
 general impression of nature itself, — to 
 
39° 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 Shakespeare, in boundless universality, 
 — to most great poets, in thorough har- 
 mony and delightfulness. He wanted 
 (generally speaking) the music of a 
 happy and a happy-making disposition. 
 Homer, from his large vital bosom, 
 breathes like a broad fresh air over the 
 world, amidst alternate storm and sun- 
 shine, making you aware that there is 
 rough work to be faced, but also activ- 
 ity and beauty to be enjoyed. The 
 feeling of health and strength is pre- 
 dominant. Life laughs at death itself, 
 or meets it with a noble confidence, — 
 is not taught to dread it as a malignant 
 goblin. Shakespeare has all the smiles 
 as well as tears of Nature, and discerns 
 the "soul of goodness in things evil." 
 He is comedy as well as tragedy, — the 
 entire man in all his qualities, moods, 
 and experiences ; and he beautifies all. 
 And both those truly divine poets make 
 Nature their subject through her own 
 inspiriting medium, — not through the 
 darkened glass of one man's spleen and 
 resentment. Dante, in constituting 
 himself the hero of his poem, not only 
 renders her, in the general impression, 
 
 as dreary as himself, in spite of the 
 occasional beautiful pictures he draws 
 of her, but narrows her very immen- 
 sity into his pettiness. He fancied, 
 alas ! that he could build her uni- 
 verse over again out of the politics 
 of old Rome and the divinity of the 
 schools ! . . . . 
 
 All that Dante said or did has its 
 interest for us in spite of his errors, 
 because he was an earnest and suffering 
 man and a great genius ; but his fame 
 must ever continue to lie where his 
 greatest blame does, in his principal 
 work. He was a gratuitous logician, 
 a preposterous politician, a cruel theo- 
 logian ; but his wonderful imagination, 
 and (considering the bitterness that was 
 in him) still more wonderful sweet- 
 ness, have gone into the hearts of his 
 fellow-creatures, and will remain there 
 in spite of the moral and religious ab- 
 surdities with which they are mingled, 
 and of the inability which the best- 
 natured readers feel to associate his 
 entire memory, as a poet, with their 
 usual personal delight in a poet and his 
 name. 
 
 DANTE AND TACITUS. 
 
 By Rev. H. H. Milman, History of Latin Christianity, Book XIV. ch. 5. 
 
 Christendom owes to Dante the crea- inflexible bondage of the established 
 
 tion of Italian Poetry, through Italian, hierarchical Latin of Europe. He had 
 
 of Christian Poetry. It required all almost yielded, and had actually com- 
 
 the courage, firmness, and prophetic menced the Divine Comedy in the 
 
 sagacity of Dante to throw aside the ancient, it seemed, the universal and 
 
Dante and Tacitus 
 
 39 1 
 
 eternal language. But the poet had 
 profoundly meditated, and deliberately- 
 resolved on his appeal to the Italian 
 mind and heart. Yet even then he 
 had to choose, to a certain extent to 
 form, the pure, vigorous, picturesque, 
 harmonious Italian which was to be 
 intelligible, which was to become na- 
 tive and popular to the universal ear of 
 Italy. He had to create ; out of a 
 chaos he had to summon light. Every 
 kingdom, every province, every district, 
 almost every city, had its dialect, pecu- 
 liar, separate, distinct, rude in con- 
 struction, harsh, in different degrees, 
 in utterance. Dante in his book on 
 Vulgar Eloquence ranges over the 
 whole land, rapidly discusses the Sicil- 
 ian and Apulian, the Roman and Spo- 
 letan, the Tuscan and Genoese, the 
 Romagnole and the Lombard, the Tre- 
 visan and Venetian, the Istrian and 
 Friulian; all are coarse, harsh, muti- 
 lated, defective. The least bad is the 
 vulgar Bolognese. But high above all 
 this discord he seems to discern, and to 
 receive into his prophetic ears, a noble 
 and pure language, common to all, pe- 
 culiar to none, a language which he de- 
 scribes as Illustrious, Cardinal, Courtly, 
 if we may use our phrase, Parliamen- 
 tary, that is, of the palace, the courts 
 of justice, and of public affairs. No 
 doubt it sprung, though its affiliation is 
 by no means clear, out of the universal 
 degenerate Latin, the rustic tongue, 
 common not in Italy alone, but in all 
 the provinces of the Roman Empire. 
 Its first domicile was the splendid Si- 
 cilian and Apulian Court of Frederick 
 
 the Second, and of his accomplished 
 son. It has been boldly said, that it 
 was part of Frederick's magnificent 
 design of universal empire : he would 
 make Italy one realm, under one king, 
 and speaking one language. Dante 
 does homage to the noble character of 
 Frederick the Second. Sicily was the 
 birthplace of Italian Poetry. The 
 Sicilian Poems live to bear witness to 
 the truth of Dante's assertion, which 
 might rest on his irrefragable authority 
 alone. The Poems, one even earlier 
 than the Court of Frederick, those of 
 Frederick himself, of Pietro della Vig- 
 na, of King Enzio, of King Manfred, 
 with some peculiarities in the forma- 
 tion, orthography, use, and sounds of 
 words, are intelligible from one end of 
 the peninsula to the other. The lan- 
 guage was echoed and perpetuated, or 
 rather resounded spontaneously, among 
 poets in other districts. This courtly, 
 aristocratical, universal Italian, Dante 
 heard as the conventional dialect in the 
 Courts of the Cassars, in the republics, 
 in the principalities throughout Italy. 
 Perhaps Dante, the Italian, the Ghibel- 
 line, the assertor of the universal tem- 
 poral monarchy, dwelt not less fondly 
 in his imagination on this universal and 
 noble Italian language, because it would 
 supersede the Papal and hierarchical 
 Latin ; the Latin, with the Pope him- 
 self, would withdraw into the sanc- 
 tuary, into the service of the Church, 
 into affairs purely spiritual. 
 
 However this might be, to this ve- 
 hicle of his noble thoughts Dante fear- 
 lessly intrusted his poetic immortality, 
 
392 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 which no poet anticipated with more 
 confident security. While the scholar 
 Petrarch condescended to the vulgar 
 tongue in his amatory poems, which he 
 had still a lurking fear might be but 
 ephemeral, in his Africa and in his 
 Latin verses he laid up, as he fondly- 
 thought, an imperishable treasure of 
 fame. Even Boccaccio, happily for his 
 own glory, followed the example of 
 Dante, as he too probably supposed in 
 his least enduring work, his gay De- 
 camerone. Yet Boccaccio doubted, 
 towards the close of his life, whether 
 the Divine Comedy had not been more 
 sublime, and therefore destined to a 
 more secure eternity, in Latin. 
 
 Thus in Italy, with the Italian lan- 
 guage, of which, if he was not abso- 
 lutely the creator, he was the first who 
 gave it permanent and vital being, arose 
 one of the great poets of the world. 
 There is a vast chasm between the 
 close of Roman and the dawn of Ital- 
 ian letters, between the period at which 
 appeared the last creative work written 
 by transcendent human genius in the 
 Roman language, while yet in its con- 
 summate strength and perfection, and 
 the first in which Italian poetry and 
 the Italian tongue came forth in their 
 majesty ; between the history of Taci- 
 tus and the Divina Commedia. No 
 one can appreciate more highly than 
 myself (if I may venture to speak of 
 myself) the great works of ecclesias- 
 tical Latin, the Vulgate, parts of the 
 Ritual, St. Augustine : yet who can 
 deny that there is barbarism, a yet 
 unreconciled confusion of uncongenial 
 
 elements, of Orientalism and Occiden- 
 talism, in the language ? From the 
 time of Trajan, except Claudian, Latin 
 letters are almost exclusively Chris- 
 tian; and Christian letters are Latin, 
 as it were, in a secondary and degen- 
 erate form. The new era opens with 
 Dante. 
 
 To my mind there is a singular kin- 
 dred and similitude between the last 
 great Latin and the first great Italian 
 writer, though one is a poet, the other 
 an historian. Tacitus and Dante have 
 the same penetrative truth of observa- 
 tion as to man and the external world 
 of man ; the same power of express- 
 ing that truth. They have the com- 
 mon gift of flashing a whole train of 
 thought, a vast range of images on the 
 mind, by a kw brief and pregnant 
 words ; the same faculty of giving life 
 to human emotions by natural images, 
 of imparting to natural images, as it 
 were, human life and human sympa- 
 thies : each has the intuitive judgment 
 of saying just enough ; the stern self- 
 restraint which will not say more than 
 enough; the rare talent of compressing 
 a mass of profound thought into an 
 apophthegm ; each paints with words, 
 with the fewest possible words, yet the 
 picture lives and speaks. Each has that 
 relentless moral indignation, that awful 
 power of satire, which in the historian 
 condemns to an immortality of earthly 
 infamy, in the Christian poet aggravates 
 that gloomy immortality of this world 
 by ratifying it in the next. Each might 
 seem to embody remorse. Patrician, 
 high, imperial, princely, Papal crimi- 
 
Dante and Tacitus 
 
 393 
 
 nals are compelled to acknowledge the 
 justice of their doom. Each, too, writ- 
 ing, one of times just passed, of which 
 the influences were strongly felt in the 
 social state and fortunes of Rome, — the 
 other of his own, in which he had 
 been actively concerned, — throws a 
 personal passion (Dante of course the 
 most) into his judgments and his lan- 
 guage, which, whatever may be its 
 effect on their justice, adds wonderfully 
 to their force and reality. Each, too, 
 has a lofty sympathy with good, only 
 that the highest ideal of Tacitus is a 
 death-defying Stoic, or an all-accom- 
 plished Roman Proconsul, an Helvidius 
 Thrasea, or an Agricola ; that of Dante, 
 a suffering, and so purified and beatified 
 Christian saint, or martyr ; in Tacitus 
 it is a majestic and virtuous Roman 
 matron, an Agrippina, in Dante an un- 
 real mysterious Beatrice. 
 
 Dante is not merely the religious 
 poet of Latin or mediaeval Christianity; 
 in him that mediaeval Christianity is 
 summed up as it were, and embodied 
 for perpetuity. The Divine Comedy 
 contains in its sublimest form the whole 
 mythology, and at the same time the 
 quintessence, the living substance, the 
 ultimate conclusions of the Scholastic 
 Theology. The whole course of Le- 
 gend, the Demonology, Angelology, 
 the extra mundane world, which in 
 the popular belief was vague, fragmen- 
 tary, incoherent, in Dante, as we have 
 seen, becomes an actual, visible, har- 
 monious system. In Dante heathen 
 images, heathen mythology, are blended 
 in the same living reality with those of 
 
 VOL. II. 50 
 
 Latin Christianity, but they are real in 
 the sense of the early Christian Fathers. 
 They are acknowledged as a part of the 
 vast hostile Demon world, just as the 
 Angelic Orders, which from Jewish or 
 Oriental tradition obtained their first 
 organization in the hierarchy of the 
 Areopagite. So, too, the schools of 
 Theology meet in the poet. Aquinas, 
 it has been said, has nothing more sub- 
 tile and metaphysical than the Paradise, 
 only that in Dante single lines, or 
 pregnant stanzas, have the full meaning 
 of pages or chapters of divinity. But 
 though his doctrine is that of Aquinas, 
 Dante has all the fervor and passion of 
 the Mystics; he is Bonaventura as well 
 as St. Thomas. 
 
 Dante was in all respects but one, 
 his Ghibellinism, the religious poet of 
 his age, and to many minds not less 
 religious for that exception. He was 
 anti-Papal, but with the fullest rever- 
 ence for the spiritual supremacy of the 
 successor of St. Peter. To him, as to 
 most religious Imperialists or Ghibel- 
 lines, to some of the spiritual Francis- 
 cans, to a vast host of believers through- 
 out Christendom, the Pope was two 
 distinct personages. One, the tempo- 
 ral, they scrupled not to condemn with 
 the fiercest reprobation, to hate with 
 the bitterest cordiality : Dante damns 
 pontiffs without fear or remorse. But 
 the other, the Spiritual Pope, was 
 worthy of all awe or reverence ; his 
 sacred person must be inviolate ; his 
 words, if not infallible, must be heard 
 with the profoundest respect ; he is 
 the Vicar of Christ, the representative 
 
394 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 of God upon earth. With his Ghibel- 
 line brethren Dante closed his eyes 
 against the incongruity, the inevitable 
 incongruity, of these two discordant 
 personages meeting in one : the same 
 Boniface is in hell, yet was of such 
 acknowledged sanctity on earth that it 
 was spiritual treason to touch his awful 
 person. The Saints of Dante are the 
 Saints of the Church ; on the highest 
 height of wisdom is St. Thomas, on 
 the highest height of holiness, St. Bene- 
 dict, St. Dominic, St. Francis. To 
 the religious adversaries of the Church 
 he has all the stern remorselessness of 
 an inquisitor. The noble Frederick 
 
 the Second, whom we have just heard 
 described as the parent of Italian poetry, 
 the model of a mighty Emperor, the 
 Caesar of Caesars, is in hell as an arch- 
 heretic, as an atheist. In hell, in the 
 same dreary circle, up to his waist in 
 fire, is the noblest of the Ghibellines, 
 Farinata degli Uberti. In hell for the 
 same sin is the father of his dearest 
 friend and brother poet Guido Caval- 
 canti. Whatever latent sympathy seems 
 to transpire for Fra Dolcino, he is un- 
 relentingly thrust down to the com- 
 panionship of Mohammed. The Cath- 
 olic may not reverse the sentence of the 
 Church. 
 
 DJNTE'S LANDSCAPES. 
 
 From Ruskin's Modern Painters, Vol. III. ch. 14. 
 
 The thing that must first strike us in 
 this respect, as we turn our thoughts to 
 the poem, is, unquestionably, the for- 
 mality of its landscape. 
 
 Milton's effort, in all that he tells us 
 of his Inferno, is to make it indefinite ; 
 Dante's, to make it definite. Both, in- 
 deed, describe it as entered through 
 gates ; but, within the gate, all is wild 
 and fenceless with Milton, having in- 
 deed its four rivers, — the last vestige 
 of the mediaeval tradition, — but rivers 
 which flow through a waste of moun- 
 tain and moorland, and by " many a 
 frozen, many a fiery alp." But Dante's 
 Inferno is accurately separated into 
 circles drawn with well-pointed com- 
 
 passes ; mapped and properly surveyed 
 in every direction, trenched in a thor- 
 oughly good style of engineering from 
 depth to depth, and divided in the 
 " accurate middle " (dritto mezzo) of 
 its deepest abyss into a ^concentric se- 
 ries of ten moats and embankments, 
 like those about a castle, with bridges 
 from each embankment to the next ; 
 precisely in the manner of those bridges 
 over Hiddekel and Euphrates, which 
 Mr. Macaulay thinks so innocently de- 
 signed, apparently not aware that he is 
 also laughing at Dante. These larger 
 fosses are of rock, and the bridges also; 
 but as he goes further into detail, Dante 
 tells us of various minor fosses and em- 
 
Dantes Landscapes 
 
 395 
 
 bankments, in which he anxiously points 
 out to us not only the formality, but 
 the neatness and perfectness, of the 
 stone-work. For instance, in describ- 
 ing the river Phlegethon, he tells us 
 that it was " paved with stone at the 
 bottom, and at the sides, and over the 
 edges of the sides" just as the water is 
 at the baths of Bulicame ; and for fear 
 we should think this embankment at all 
 larger than it really was, Dante adds, 
 carefully, that it was made just like 
 the embankments of Ghent or Bruges 
 against the sea, or those in Lombardy 
 which bank the Brenta, only " not so 
 high, nor so wide," as any of these. 
 And besides the trenches, we have two 
 well-built castles ; one like Ecbatana, 
 with seven circuits of wall (and sur- 
 rounded by a fair stream), wherein the 
 great poets and sages of antiquity live ; 
 and another, a great fortified city with 
 walls of iron, red-hot, and a deep fosse 
 round it, and full of " grave citizens," 
 — the city of Dis. 
 
 Now, whether this be in what we 
 moderns call " good taste," or not, I 
 do not mean just now to inquire, — 
 Dante having nothing to do with taste, 
 but with the facts of what he had 
 seen ; only, so far as the imaginative 
 faculty of the two poets is concerned, 
 note that Milton's vagueness is not the 
 sign of imagination, but of its absence, 
 so far as it is significative in the matter. 
 For it does not follow, because Milton 
 did not map out his Inferno as Dante 
 did, that he could not have done so if 
 he had chosen ; only, it was the easier 
 and less imaginative process to leave it 
 
 vague than to define it. Imagination 
 is always the seeing and asserting fac- 
 ulty; that which obscures or conceals 
 may be judgment, or feeling, but not 
 invention. The invention, whether 
 good or bad, is in the accurate en- 
 gineering, not in the fog and uncer- 
 tainty. 
 
 When we pass with Dante from the 
 Inferno to the Purgatory, we have in- 
 deed more light and air, but no more 
 liberty; being now confined on various 
 ledges cut into a mountain-side, with a 
 precipice on one hand and a vertical 
 wall on the other ; and, lest here also 
 we should make any mistake about 
 magnitudes, we are told that the ledges 
 were eighteen feet wide, and that the 
 ascent from one to the other was by 
 steps, made like those which go up 
 from Florence to the church of San 
 Miniato. 
 
 Lastly, though in the Paradise there 
 is perfect freedom and infinity of space, 
 though for trenches we have planets, 
 and for cornices constellations, yet 
 there is more cadence, procession, and 
 order among the redeemed souls than 
 any others ; they fly so as to describe 
 letters and sentences in the air, and 
 rest in circles, like rainbows, or deter- 
 minate figures, as of a cross and an 
 eagle ; in which certain of the more 
 glorified natures are so arranged as to 
 form the eye of the bird, while those 
 most highly blessed are arranged with 
 their white crowds in leaflets, so as to 
 form the image of a white rose in the 
 midst of heaven. 
 
 Thus, throughout the poem, I con- 
 
39 6 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 ceive that the first striking character of 
 its scenery is intense definition ; pre- 
 cisely the reflection of that definiteness 
 which we have already traced in picto- 
 rial art. But the second point which 
 seems noteworthy is, that the flat 
 ground and embanked trenches are re- 
 served for the Inferno ; and that the 
 entire territory of the Purgatory is a 
 mountain, thus marking the sense of 
 that purifying and perfecting influence 
 in mountains which we saw the medi- 
 eval mind was so ready to suggest. 
 The same general idea is indicated at 
 the very commencement of the poem, 
 in which Dante is overwhelmed by 
 fear and sorrow in passing through a 
 dark forest, but revives on seeing the 
 sun touch the top of a hill, afterwards 
 called by Virgil " the pleasant mount, 
 — the cause and source of all delight." 
 While, however, we find this greater 
 honor paid to mountains, I think we 
 may perceive a much greater dread and 
 dislike of woods. We saw that Homer 
 seemed to attach a pleasant idea, for 
 the most part, to forests ; regarding 
 them as sources of wealth and places 
 of shelter; and we find constantly an 
 idea of sacredness attached to them, 
 as being haunted especially by the 
 gods ; so that even the wood which 
 surrounds the house of Circe is spoken 
 of as a sacred thicket, or rather as a 
 sacred glade, or labyrinth of glades (of 
 the particular word used I shall have 
 more to say presently) ; and so the 
 wood is sought as a kindly shelter by 
 Ulysses, in spite of its wild beasts ; 
 and evidently regarded with great affec- 
 
 tion by Sophocles, for, in a passage 
 which is always regarded by readers of 
 Greek tragedy with peculiar pleasure, 
 the aged and blind CEdipus, brought to 
 rest in " the sweetest resting-place " in 
 all the neighborhood of Athens, has 
 the spot described to him as haunted 
 perpetually by nightingales, which sing 
 " in the green glades and in the dark 
 ivy, and in the thousand-fruited, sun- 
 less, and windless thickets of the god " 
 (Bacchus) ; the idea of the complete 
 shelter from wind and sun being here, 
 as with Ulysses, the uppermost one. 
 After this come the usual staples of 
 landscape, — narcissus, crocus, plenty 
 of rain, olive-trees ; and last, and the 
 greatest boast of all, — "it is a good 
 country for horses, and conveniently 
 by the sea "; but the prominence and 
 pleasantness of the thick wood in the 
 thoughts of the writer are very notable ; 
 whereas to Dante the idea of a forest 
 is exceedingly repulsive, so that, as 
 just noticed, in the opening of his 
 poem, he cannot express a general 
 despair about life more strongly than 
 by saying he was lost in a wood so 
 savage and terrible, that "even to think 
 or speak of it is distress, — it was so 
 bitter, — it was something next door 
 to death " ; and one of the saddest 
 scenes in all the Inferno is in a forest, 
 of which the trees are haunted by lost 
 souls ; while, (with only one excep- 
 tion,) whenever the country is to be 
 beautiful, we find ourselves coming out 
 into open air and open meadows. 
 
 It is quite true that this is partly a 
 characteristic, not merely of Dante, or 
 
Dante's Landscapes 
 
 397 
 
 of mediaeval writers, but of Southern 
 writers ; for the simple reason that the 
 forest, being with them higher upon 
 the hills, and more out of the way, than 
 in the north, was generally a type of 
 lonely and savage places ; while in 
 England, the "greenwood" coming up 
 to the very walls of the towns, it was 
 possible to be " merry in the good 
 greenwood," in a sense which an Ital- 
 ian could not have understood. Hence 
 Chaucer, Spenser, and Shakespeare send 
 their favorites perpetually to the woods 
 for pleasure or meditation ; and trust 
 their tender Canace, or Rosalind, or 
 Helena, or Silvia, or Belphcebe, where 
 Dante would have sent no one but a 
 condemned spirit. Nevertheless, there 
 is always traceable in the mediaeval 
 mind a dread of thick foliage, which 
 was not present to that of a Greek; so 
 that, even in the North, we have our 
 sorrowful "children in the wood," and 
 black huntsmen of the Hartz forests, 
 and such other wood terrors; the prin- 
 cipal reason for the difference being, 
 that a Greek, being by no means given 
 to travelling, regarded his woods as so 
 much valuable property, and, if he 
 ever went into them for pleasure, ex- 
 pected to meet one or two gods in the 
 course of his walk, but no banditti ; 
 while a mediaeval, much more of a 
 solitary traveller, and expecting to meet 
 with no gods in the thickets, but only 
 with thieves, or a hostile ambush, or a 
 bear, besides a great deal of trouble- 
 some ground for his horse, and a very 
 serious chance, next to a certainty, of 
 losing his way, naturally kept in the 
 
 open ground as long as he could, and 
 regarded the forests, in general, with 
 anything but an eye of favor. 
 
 These, I think, are the principal 
 points which must strike us, when we 
 first broadly think of the poem as com- 
 pared with classical work. Let us now 
 go a little more into detail. 
 
 As Homer gave us an ideal land- 
 scape, which even a god might have 
 been pleased to behold, so Dante gives 
 us, fortunately, an ideal landscape, 
 which is specially intended for the ter- 
 restrial paradise. And it will doubtless 
 be with some surprise, after our reflec- 
 tions above on the general tone of 
 Dante's feelings, that we find ourselves 
 here first entering a forest, and that 
 even a thick forest. But there is a pe- 
 culiar meaning in this. With any 
 other poet than Dante, it might have 
 been regarded as a wanton inconsist- 
 ency. Not so with him: by glancing 
 back to the two lines which explain 
 the nature of Paradise, we shall see 
 what he means by it. Virgil tells him, 
 as he enters it, " Henceforward, take 
 thine own pleasure for guide ; thou art 
 beyond the steep ways, and beyond all 
 Art " ; — meaning, that the perfectly 
 purified and noble human creature, 
 having no pleasure but in right, is past 
 all effort, and past all rule. Art has 
 no existence for such a being. Hence, 
 the first aim of Dante, in his landscape 
 imagery, is to show evidence of this 
 perfect liberty, and of the purity and 
 sinlessness of the new nature, convert- 
 ing pathless ways into happy ones. 
 So that all those fences and formalisms 
 
39^ 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 which had been needed for him in 
 imperfection are removed in this para- 
 dise ; and even the pathlessness of the 
 wood, the most dreadful thing possible 
 to him in his days of sin and short- 
 coming, is now a joy to him in his days 
 of purity. And as the fencelessness 
 and thicket of sin led to the fettered 
 and fearful order of eternal punish- 
 ment, so the fencelessness and thicket 
 of the free virtue lead to the loving 
 and constellated order of eternal hap- 
 piness. 
 
 This forest, then, is very like that 
 of Colonos in several respects, — in its 
 peace and sweetness, and number of 
 birds ; it differs from it only in letting 
 a light breeze through it, being there- 
 fore somewhat thinner than the Greek 
 wood ; the tender lines which tell of 
 the voices of the birds mingling with 
 the wind, and of the leaves all turning 
 one way before it, have been more or 
 less copied by every poet since Dante's 
 time. They are, so far as I know, the 
 sweetest passage of wood description 
 which exists in literature. 
 
 Before, however, Dante has gone far 
 in this wood, — that is to say, only so 
 far as to have lost sight of the place 
 where he entered it, or rather, I sup- 
 pose, of the light under the boughs of 
 the outside trees, and it must have been 
 a very thin wood indeed if he did not 
 do this in some quarter of a mile's 
 walk, — he comes to a little river, 
 three paces over, which bends the 
 blades of grass to the left, with a mead- 
 ow on the other side of it ; and in 
 this meadow 
 
 "A lady, graced with solitude, who went 
 
 Singing and setting flower by flower apart, 
 By which the path she walked on was besprent. 
 'Ah, lady beautiful, that basking art 
 
 In beams of love, if I may trust thy face, 
 Which useth to bear witness of the heart, 
 Let liking come on thee,' said I, ' to trace 
 
 Thy path a little closer to the shore, 
 Where I may reap the hearing of thy lays. 
 Thou mindest me, how Proserpine of yore 
 
 Appeared in such a place, what time her 
 mother 
 Lost her, and she the spring, forevermore.' 
 As, pointing downwards and to one another 
 
 Her feet, a lady bendeth in the dance, 
 And barely setteth one before the other, 
 Thus, on the scarlet and the saffron glance 
 
 Of flowers with motion maidenlike she bent 
 (Her modest eyelids drooping and askance); 
 And there she gave my wishes their content, 
 
 Approaching, so that her sweet melodies 
 Arrived upon mine ear with what they meant. 
 When first she came amongst the blades that rise, 
 
 Already wetted, from the goodly river, 
 She graced me by the lifting of her eyes." 
 
 Cayley. 
 
 I have given this passage at length, 
 because, for our purposes, it is by much 
 the most important, not only in Dante, 
 but in the whole circle of poetry. 
 This lady, observe, stands on the op- 
 posite side of the little stream, which, 
 presently, she explains to Dante is 
 Lethe, having power to cause forget- 
 fulness of all .evil, and she stands just 
 among the bent blades of grass at its 
 edge. She is first seen gathering flower 
 from flower, then "passing continually 
 the multitudinous flowers through her 
 hands," smiling at the same time so 
 brightly, that her first address to Dante 
 is to prevent him from wondering at 
 her, saying, " if he will remember the 
 verse of the ninety-second Psalm, be- 
 
Dante's Landscapes 
 
 399 
 
 ginning 'Delectasti,' he will know why- 
 she is so happy." 
 
 And turning to the verse of the 
 Psalm, we find it written, " Thou, 
 Lord, hast made me glad through thy 
 works. I will triumph in the works of 
 thy hands ",• or, in the very words in 
 which Dante would read it, — 
 
 " Quia delectasti me, Domine, in factura tua, 
 Et in operibus manuum Tuarum exultabo." 
 
 Now we could not for an instant 
 have had any difficulty in understand- 
 ing this, but that, some way farther on 
 in the poem, this lady is called Matilda, 
 and it is with reason supposed by the 
 commentators to be the great Countess 
 Matilda of the eleventh century; nota- 
 ble equally for her ceaseless activity, 
 her brilliant political genius, her per- 
 fect piety, and her deep reverence for 
 the see of Rome. This Countess Ma- 
 tilda is therefore Dante's guide in the 
 terrestrial paradise, as Beatrice is after- 
 wards in the celestial ; each of them 
 having a spiritual and symbolic char- 
 acter in their glorified state, yet retain- 
 ing their definite personality. 
 
 The question is, then, what is the 
 symbolic character of the Countess 
 Matilda, as the guiding spirit of the 
 terrestrial paradise? Before Dante had 
 entered this paradise he had rested on 
 a step of shelving rock, and as he 
 watched the stars he slept, and dreamed, 
 and thus tells us what he saw : — 
 
 "A lady, young and beautiful, I dreamed, 
 Was passing o'er a lea ; and, as she came, 
 Methought I saw her ever and anon 
 Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang: 
 ' Know ye, whoever of my name would ask, 
 
 That I am Leah ; for my brow to weave 
 A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply ; 
 To please me at the crystal mirror, here 
 I deck. me. But my sister Rachel, she 
 Before her glass abides the livelong day, 
 Her radiant eyes beholding, charmed no less 
 Than I with this delightful task. Her joy 
 In contemplation, as in labor mine.' " 
 
 This vision of Rachel and Leah has 
 been always, and with unquestionable 
 truth, received as a type of the Active 
 and Contemplative life, and as an intro- 
 duction to the two divisions of the 
 Paradise which Dante is about to enter. 
 Therefore the unwearied spirit of the 
 Countess Matilda is understood to rep- 
 resent the Active life, which forms 
 the felicity of Earth ; and the spirit of 
 Beatrice the Contemplative life, which 
 forms the felicity of Heaven. This 
 interpretation appears at first straight- 
 forward and certain, but it has missed 
 count of exactly the most important 
 fact in the two passages which we have 
 to explain. Observe : Leah gathers 
 the flowers to decorate herself, and de- 
 lights in Her Own Labor. Rachel sits 
 silent, contemplating herself, and de- 
 lights in Her Own Image. These are 
 the types of the Unglorified Active and 
 Contemplative powers of Man. But 
 Beatrice and Matilda are the same 
 powers, Glorified. And how are they 
 Glorified ? Leah took delight in her 
 own labor ; but Matilda — " in operi- 
 bus manuum Tuarum " — in God's la- 
 bor ; — Rachel in the sight of her own 
 face ; Beatrice in the sight of God's 
 face. 
 
 And thus, when afterwards Dante 
 sees Beatrice on her throne, and prays 
 
400 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 her that, when he himself shall die, 
 she would receive him with kindness, 
 Beatrice merely looks down for an in- 
 stant, and answers with a single smile, 
 then " towards the eternal fountain 
 turns." 
 
 Therefore it is evident that Dante 
 distinguishes in both cases, not be- 
 tween earth and heaven, but between 
 perfect and imperfect happiness, wheth- 
 er in earth or heaven. The active 
 life which has only the service of 
 man for its end, and therefore gath- 
 ers flowers, with Leah, for its own 
 decoration, is indeed happy, but not 
 perfectly so ; it has only the happiness 
 of the dream, belonging essentially to 
 the dream of human life, and passing 
 away with it. But the active life which 
 labors for the more and more discovery 
 of God's work, is perfectly happy, and 
 is the life of the terrestrial paradise, 
 being a true foretaste of heaven, and 
 beginning in earth, as heaven's vesti- 
 bule. So also the contemplative life 
 which is concerned with human feel- 
 ing and thought and beauty — the life 
 which is in earthly poetry and imagery 
 of noble earthly emotion — is happy, 
 but it is the happiness of the dream ; 
 the contemplative life which has God's 
 person and love in Christ for its ob- 
 ject, has the happiness of eternity. 
 But because this higher happiness is also 
 
 begun here on earth, Beatrice descends 
 to earth ; and when revealed to Dante 
 first, he sees the image of the twofold 
 personality of Christ reflected in her 
 eyes ; as the flowers, which are, to the 
 mediaeval heart, the chief work of God, 
 are forever passing through Matilda's 
 bands. 
 
 Now, therefore, we see that Dante, 
 as the great prophetic exponent of the 
 heart of the Middle Ages, has, by the 
 lips of the spirit of Matilda, declared 
 the mediaeval faith, — that all perfect 
 active life was " the expression of 
 man's delight in God's work ",• and that 
 all their political and warlike energy, 
 as fully shown in the mortal life of 
 Matilda, was yet inferior and impure, 
 — the energy of the dream, — com- 
 pared with that which on the opposite 
 bank of Lethe stood " choosing flower 
 from flower." And what joy and 
 peace there were in this work is 
 marked by Matilda's being the person 
 who draws Dante through the stream 
 of Lethe, so as to make him forget all 
 sin, and all sorrow : throwing her 
 arms round him, she plunges his head 
 under the waves of it; then draws him 
 through, crying to him, "Hold me, hold 
 me" (Tiemmi, tiemmi), and so presents 
 him, thus bathed, free from all painful 
 memory, at the feet of the spirit of the 
 more heavenly contemplation. 
 
Dante s Creed 
 
 401 
 
 DAN TE'S CREED. 
 
 From the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. LXV. Art. I. 
 
 Another thought sustained him, and 
 was the end towards which he directed 
 all the energies which love had roused 
 within him ; and this must be specially 
 insisted upon, because, wonderfully 
 enough ! even in the present day it is 
 either misunderstood or lightly treated 
 by all who busy themselves about 
 Dante. This aim is the national aim, 
 
 — the same desire that vibrates instinc- 
 tively in the bosoms of twenty-two 
 millions of men, and which is the 
 secret of the immense popularity Dante 
 has in Italy. This idea and the almost 
 superhuman constancy with which he 
 pursued it, render Dante the most com- 
 plete individual incarnation of this aim 
 that Vve know, and, notwithstanding, 
 this is just the point upon which his bi- 
 ographers are the most uncertain 
 
 It must be said and insisted upon, 
 that this idea of national greatness is 
 the leading thought in all that Dante 
 did or wrote. Never man loved his 
 country with a more exalted or fervent 
 love ; never had man such projects of 
 magnificent and exalted destinies for 
 her. All who consider Dante as a 
 Guelph or a Ghibelline grovel at the 
 base of the monument which he desired 
 to raise to Italy. We are not here 
 required to give an opinion upon the 
 degree of feasibility of Dante's ideas, 
 
 — the future must decide this point. 
 What we have to do is to show what 
 
 VOL. II. 51 
 
 Dante aimed at, in order that those 
 who desire to come to a just estimate of 
 his life may have sufficient grounds to 
 judge him. This we shall do as rapidly 
 as possible, relying upon passages in 
 the Convito, and his little treatise De 
 Monarcbia, for our authority. The 
 following, then, is a summary of what, 
 in the thirteenth century, Dante be- 
 lieved. 
 
 God is one, — the universe is one 
 thought of God, — the universe there- 
 fore is one. All things come from 
 God, — they all participate, more or 
 less, in the Divine nature, according to 
 the end for which they are created. 
 They all float towards different points 
 over the great ocean of existence, but 
 they are all moved by the same will. 
 Flowers in the garden of God all merit 
 our love according to the degree of ex- 
 cellence he has bestowed upon each; 
 of these Man is the most eminent. 
 Upon him God has bestowed more of 
 his own nature than upon any other 
 creature. In the continuous scale of 
 being, that man whose nature is the 
 most degraded touches upon the ani- 
 mal ; he whose nature is the most 
 noble approaches that of the angel. 
 Everything that comes from the hand 
 of God tends towards the perfection of 
 which it is susceptible, and man more 
 fervently and more vigorously than all 
 the rest. There is this difference be- 
 
402 
 
 Illustration. 
 
 tween him and other creatures, that his 
 perfectibility is what Dante calls pos- 
 sible, meaning indefinite. Coming from 
 the bosom of God, the human soul 
 incessantly aspires towards Him, and 
 endeavors by holiness and knowledge 
 to become reunited with Him. Now 
 the life of the individual man is too 
 short and too weak to enable him to 
 satisfy that yearning in this world; but 
 around him, before him, stands the 
 whole human race to which he is allied 
 by his social nature, — that never dies, 
 but works through one generation of its 
 members after another onwards, in the 
 road to eternal truth. Mankind is one. 
 God has made nothing in vain, and if 
 there exists a multitude, a collective of 
 men, it is because there is one aim for 
 them all, — one work to be accom- 
 plished by them all. Whatever this aim 
 may be, it does certainly exist, and we 
 must endeavor to discover and attain it. 
 Mankind, then, ought to work togeth- 
 er, in order that all the intellectual 
 powers that are bestowed amongst them 
 may receive the highest possible de- 
 velopment, whether in the sphere of 
 thought or action. It is only by har- 
 mony, consequently by association, that 
 this is possible. Mankind must be one, 
 even as God is one ; — one in organiza- 
 tion, as it is already one in its princi- 
 ple. Unity is taught by the manifest 
 design of God in the external world, 
 and by the necessity of an aim. Now 
 unity seeks for something by which it 
 may be represented, and this is found 
 in a unity of government. There must 
 
 then of necessity be some centre to 
 which the general inspiration of man- 
 kind ascends, thence to flow down again 
 in the form of Law, — a power strong 
 in unity, and in the supporting advice of 
 the higher intellects naturally destined 
 to rule, providing with calm wisdom 
 for all the different functions which are 
 to be fulfilled, — the distinct employ- 
 ments, — itself performing the part of 
 ilot, of supreme chief, in order to 
 bring to the highest perfection what 
 Dante calls " the universal religion 
 of human nature "; that is, empire, — 
 Imperium. It will maintain concord 
 amongst the rulers of states, and this 
 peace will diffuse itself from thence 
 into towns, from the towns among each 
 cluster of habitations, into every house, 
 into the bosom of each man. But 
 where is the seat of this empire to be ? 
 
 At this question Dante quits all ana- 
 lytic argumentation, and takes up the 
 language of synthetical and absolute af- 
 firmation, like a man in whom the least 
 expression of doubt excites astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 He is no longer a philosopher, he is a 
 believer. He shows Rome, the Holy 
 City, as he calls her, — the city whose 
 very stones he declares to be worthy 
 of reverence, — " There is the seat of 
 empire." There never was, and there 
 never will be, a people endowed with 
 more gentleness for the exercise of 
 command, with more vigor to maintain 
 it, and more capacity to acquire it, than 
 the Italian nation, and above all, the 
 Holy Roman people. 
 
The Divina Coimnedia 
 
 403 
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 
 
 From the German of Schelling. 
 
 In the sanctuary where Religion "is 
 married to immortal verse " stands 
 Dante as high-priest, and consecrates all 
 modern Art to its vocation. Not as a 
 solitary poem, but representing the 
 whole class of the New Poetry, and 
 itself a separate class, stands the " Di- 
 vine Comedy," so entirely unique, that 
 any theory drawn from peculiar forms 
 is quite inadequate to it; — a world 
 by itself, it demands its own peculiar 
 theory. The predicate of Divine was 
 given it by its author,* because it treats 
 of theology and things divine ; Comedy 
 he called it, after the simplest notion 
 of this and its opposite kind, on ac- 
 count of its fearful beginning and its 
 happy ending, and because the mixed 
 nature of the poem, whose material is 
 now lofty and now lowly, rendered a 
 mixed kind of style necessary. 
 
 One readily perceives, however, that, 
 according to the common notion, it 
 cannot be called Dramatic, because it 
 represents no circumscribed action. 
 So far as Dante himself may be looked 
 upon as the hero, who serves only as 
 a thread for the measureless series of 
 visions and pictures, and remains rather 
 passive than active, the poem seems to 
 approach nearer to a Romance ; yet 
 this definition does not completely ex- 
 
 * The title of " Divina " was not given to 
 the poem till long after Dante's death. It first 
 appears in the edition of 1516. — Tk. 
 
 haust it. Nor can we call it Epic, in 
 the usual acceptation of the word, since 
 there is no regular sequence in the 
 events represented. To look upon it 
 as a Didactic poem is likewise impos- 
 sible, because it is written with a far 
 less restricted form and aim than that 
 of teaching. It belongs, therefore, to 
 none of these classes in particular, nor 
 is it merely a compound of them ; but 
 an entirely unique, and as it were or- 
 ganic, mixture of all their elements, 
 not to be reproduced by any arbitrary 
 rules of art, — an absolute individu- 
 ality, comparable with itself alone, and 
 with naught else. 
 
 The material of the poem is, in 
 general terms, the express identity of 
 the poet's age ; — the interpenetration 
 of the events thereof with the ideas of 
 Religion, Science, and Poetry in the 
 loftiest genius of that century. Our 
 intention is not to consider it in its 
 immediate reference to its age ; but 
 rather in its universal application, and 
 as the archetype of all modern Poetry. 
 The necessary law of this poetry, 
 down to the still indefinitely distant 
 point where the great epic of modern 
 times, which hitherto has announced 
 itself only rhapsodically and in broken 
 glimpses, shall present itself as a per- 
 fect whole, is this, — that the individ- 
 ual gives shape and unity to that por- 
 tion of the world which is revealed to 
 
40 4 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 him, and out of the materials of his 
 time, its history, and its science, creates 
 his own mythology. For as the an- 
 cient world is, in general, the world of 
 classes, so the modern is that of indi- 
 viduals. In the former, the Universal 
 is in truth the Particular, the race acts 
 as an individual ; in the latter, the 
 Individual is the point of departure, 
 and becomes the Universal. For this 
 reason, in the former all things are 
 permanent and imperishable : number 
 likewise is of no account, since the 
 Universal idea coincides with that of 
 the Individual ; — in the latter con- 
 stant mutation is the fixed law ; no 
 narrow circle limits its ends, but one 
 which through Individuality widens 
 itself to infinitude. And since Uni- 
 versality belongs to the essence of 
 poetry, it is a necessary condition that 
 the Individual through the highest pe- 
 culiarity should again become Univer- 
 sal, and by his complete speciality be- 
 come again absolute. Thus, through 
 the perfect individuality and uniqueness 
 of his poem, Dante is the creator of 
 modern art, which without this arbi- 
 trary necessity, and necessary arbitrari- 
 ness, cannot be imagined. 
 
 From the very beginning of Greek 
 Poetry, we see it clearly separated from 
 Science and Philosophy, as in Homer; 
 and this process of separation continued 
 until the poets and the philosophers 
 became the antipodes of each other. 
 They in vain, by allegorical interpre- 
 tations of the Homeric poems, sought 
 artificially to create a harmony between 
 the two. In modern times Science has 
 
 preceded Poetry and Mythology, which 
 cannot be Mythology without being 
 universal, and drawing into its circle all 
 the elements of the then existing cul- 
 ture, Science, Religion, and even Art, 
 and joining in a perfect unity the mate- 
 rial not only of the present but of the 
 past. Into this struggle (since Art de- 
 mands something definite and limited, 
 while the spirit of the world rushes 
 towards the unlimited, and with cease- 
 less power sweeps down all barriers) 
 must the Individual enter, but with 
 absolute freedom seek to rescue per- 
 manent shapes from the fluctuations of 
 time, and within arbitrarily assumed 
 forms to give to the structure of his po- 
 em, by its absolute peculiarity, internal 
 necessity and external universality. 
 
 This Dante has done. He had be- 
 fore him, as material, the history of 
 the present as well as of the past. He 
 could not elaborate this into a pure 
 Epos, partly on account of its nature, 
 partly because, in doing this, he would 
 have excluded other elements of the 
 culture of his time. To its complete- 
 ness belonged also the astronomy, the 
 theology, and the philosophy of the 
 time. To these he could not give ex- 
 pression in a didactic poem, for by so 
 doing he would again have limited 
 himself. Consequently, in order to 
 make his poem universal, he was 
 obliged to make it historical. An in- 
 vention entirely uncontrolled, and pro- 
 ceeding from his own individuality, 
 was necessary to unite these materials, 
 and form them into an organic whole. 
 To represent the ideas of Philosophy 
 
The Divina Commedia 
 
 405 
 
 and Theology in symbols was impos- 
 sible, for there then existed no sym- 
 bolic Mythology. He could quite as 
 little make his poem purely allegorical, 
 for then, again, it could not be histori- 
 cal. It was necessary, therefore, to 
 make it an entirely unique mixture of 
 Allegory and History. In the emble- 
 matic poetry of the ancients no clew 
 of this kind was possible. The Indi- 
 vidual only Could lay hold of it, and 
 only an uncontrolled invention fol- 
 low it. 
 
 The poem of Dante is not allegorical 
 in the sense that its figures only signi- 
 fied something else, without having any 
 separate existence independent of the 
 thing signified. On the other hand, 
 none of them is independent of the 
 thing signified in such a way as to be 
 at once the idea itself and more than 
 an allegory of it. There is therefore 
 in his poem an entirely unique mean 
 between Allegory and symbolic-objec- 
 tive Form. There is no doubt, and 
 the poet has himself elsewhere declared 
 it, that Beatrice, for example, is an 
 Allegory, namely, of Theology. So 
 her companions ; so many other char- 
 acters. But at the same time they 
 count for themselves, and appear on 
 the scene as historic personages, with- 
 out on that account being symbols. 
 
 In this respect Dante is archetypal, 
 since he has proclaimed what the mod- 
 ern poet has to do, in order to embody 
 into a poetic whole the entire history 
 and culture of his age, — the only 
 mythological material which lies before 
 him. He must, from absolute arbitra- 
 
 riness, join together the allegorical and 
 historical: he must be allegorical, (and 
 he is so, too, against his will,) bacause 
 he cannot be symbolical ; and he must 
 be historical, because he wishes to be 
 poetical. In this respect his invention 
 is always peculiar, a world by itself, 
 and altogether characteristic. 
 
 The only German poem of universal 
 plan unites together in a similar manner 
 the outermost extremes in the aspira- 
 tions of the times, by a very peculiar 
 invention of a subordinate mythology, 
 in the character of Faust; although, in 
 the Aristophanic meaning of the word, 
 it may far better be called a Comedy, 
 and in another and more poetic sense 
 Divine, than the poem of Dante. 
 
 The energy with which the individ- 
 ual embodies the singular mixture of 
 the materials which lie before him in 
 his age and his life, determines the 
 measure in which he possesses mytho- 
 logical power. Dante's personages 
 possess a kind of eternity from the po- 
 sition in which he places them, and 
 which is eternal ; but not only the 
 actual which he draws from his own 
 time, as the story of Ugolino and the 
 like, but also what is pure invention, 
 as the death of Ulysses and his com- 
 panions, has in the connection of his 
 poem a real mythological truth. 
 
 It would be of but subordinate in- 
 terest to represent by itself the Phi- 
 losophy, Physics, and Astronomy of 
 Dante, since his true peculiarity lies 
 only in his manner of fusing them with 
 his poetry. The Ptolemaic system, 
 which to a certain degree is the foun- 
 
406 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 dation of his poetic structure, has al- 
 ready in itself a mythological coloring. 
 If, however, his philosophy is to be 
 characterized in general as Aristotelian, 
 we must not understand by this the pure 
 Peripatetic philosophy, but a peculiar 
 union of the same with the ideas of the 
 Platonic then entertained, as may be 
 proved by many passages of his poem. 
 
 We will not dwell upon the power 
 and solidity of separate passages, the 
 simplicity and endless naivete of sepa- 
 rate pictures, in which he expresses his 
 philosophical views, as the well-known 
 description of the soul which comes 
 from the hand of God as a little girl 
 " weeping and laughing in its childish 
 sport," a guileless soul, which knows 
 nothing, save that, moved by its joyful 
 Creator, " willingly it turns to that 
 which gives it pleasure"; — we speak 
 only of the general symbolic form of 
 the whole, in whose absoluteness, more 
 than in anythiug else, the universal 
 value and immortality of this poem is 
 recognized. 
 
 If the union of Philosophy and Po- 
 etry, even in their most subordinate 
 synthesis, is understood as making a 
 didactic poem, it becomes necessary, 
 since the poem must be without any 
 external end and aim, that the inten- 
 tion (of instructing) should lose itself 
 in it, and be changed into an absolute- 
 ness {in eine Absolutheit verwandelt), 
 so that the poem may seem to exist for 
 its own sake. And this is only con- 
 ceivable, when Science (considered as 
 a picture of the universe, and in per- 
 fect harmony therewith, as the most 
 
 original and beautiful Poetry) is in it- 
 self already poetical. Dante's poem is 
 a much higher interpenetration of Sci- 
 ence and Poetry, and so much the more 
 must its form, even in its freer self- 
 existence, be adapted to the universal 
 type of the world's aspect. 
 
 The division of the universe, and 
 the arrangement of the materials ac- 
 cording to the three kingdoms of Hell, 
 Purgatory, and Paradise, independently 
 of the peculiar meaning of these ideas 
 in Christian theology, are also a gen- 
 eral symbolic form, so that one does 
 not see why under the same form every 
 remarkable age should not have its own 
 Divine Comedy. As in the modern 
 Drama the form of five acts is assumed 
 as the usual one, because every event 
 may be regarded in its Beginning, its 
 Progress, its Culmination, its Denoue- 
 ment, and its final Consummation, so 
 this trichotomy, or threefold division 
 of Dante in the higher prophetic po- 
 etry, which is to be the expression of 
 a whole age, is conceivable as a gen- 
 eral form, which in its filling up may 
 be infinitely varied, as by the power of 
 original invention it can always be 
 quickened into new life. Not alone, 
 however, as an external form, but as 
 an emblematical expression of the in- 
 ternal type of all Science and Poetry, 
 is that form eternal, and capable of 
 embracing in itself the three great ob- 
 jects of science and culture, — Nature, 
 History, and Art. • Nature, as the 
 birth of all things, is the eternal Night; 
 and as that unity through which these 
 are in themselves, it is the aphelion of 
 
The Divina Commedia 
 
 407 
 
 the universe, the point of farthest 
 removal from God, the true centre. 
 Life and History, whose nature is 
 gradual progress, are only a process 
 of clarification, a transition to an abso- 
 lute condition. This can nowhere be 
 found save in Art, which anticipates 
 eternity, is the paradise of life, and is 
 truly in the centre. 
 
 Dante's poem, therefore, viewed from 
 all sides, is not an isolated work of a 
 particular age, a particular stage of cul- 
 ture ; but it is archetypal, by the uni- 
 versal interest which it unites with the 
 most absolute individuality, — by its 
 universality, in virtue of which it ex- 
 cludes no side of life and culture, — 
 and, finally, by its form, which is not 
 a peculiar type, but the type of the 
 theory of the universe in general. 
 
 The peculiar internal arrangement of 
 the poem certainly cannot possess this 
 universal interest, since it is formed 
 upon the ideas of the time, and the 
 peculiar views of the poet. On the 
 other hand, as is to be expected from 
 a work so artistic and full of purpose, 
 the general inner type is again exter- 
 nally imaged forth, through the form, 
 color, sound, of the three great divis- 
 ions of the poem. 
 
 From the extraordinary nature of his 
 material, Dante needed for the form of 
 his creations in detail some kind of 
 credentials which only the Science of 
 his time could give, and which for him 
 are, so to speak, the Mythology and 
 the general basis which supports the 
 daring edifice of his inventions. But 
 even in the details he remains true to 
 
 his design of being allegorical, without 
 ceasing to be historical and poetical. 
 Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise are, as 
 it were, only his system of Theology 
 in its concrete and architectural devel- 
 opment. The proportion, number, 
 and relations which he observes in 
 their internal structure were prescribed 
 by this science, and herein he re- 
 nounced intentionally the freedom of 
 invention, in order to give, by means 
 of form, necessity and limitation to his 
 poem, which in its materials was un- 
 limited. The universal sanctity and 
 significancy of numbers is another ex- 
 ternal form upon which his poetry 
 rests. So in general the entire logical 
 and syllogistic lore of that age is for 
 him only form, which must be granted 
 to him in order to attain to that region 
 in which his poetry moves. 
 
 And yet in this adherence to relig- 
 ious and philosophical notions, as the 
 most universally interesting thing which 
 his age offered, Dante never seeks an 
 ordinary kind of poetic probability ; 
 but rather renounces all intention of 
 flattering the baser senses. His first 
 entrance into Hell takes place, as it 
 should take place, without any unpo- 
 etical attempt to assign a motive for it 
 or to make it intelligible, in a condition 
 like that of a Vision, without, how- 
 ever, any intention of making it appear 
 such. His being drawn up by Bea- 
 trice's eyes, through which the divine 
 power is communicated to him, he ex- 
 presses in a single line : what is won- 
 derful in his own adventures he im- 
 mediately changes to a likeness of the 
 
4o8 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 mysteries of religion, and gives it cred- 
 ibility by a yet higher mystery, as 
 when he makes his entrance into the 
 moon, which he compares to that of 
 light into the unbroken surface of 
 water, an image of God's incarna- 
 tion. 
 
 To show the perfection of art and 
 the depth of purpose which was carried 
 even into the minor details of the inner 
 structure of the three worlds, would be 
 a science in itself. This was recog- 
 nized shortly after the poet's death by 
 his nation, in their appointing a dis- 
 tinct Lectureship upon Dante, which 
 was first filled by Boccaccio. 
 
 But not only do the several incidents 
 in each of the three parts of the poem 
 allow the universal character of the first 
 form to shine through them, but the 
 law thereof expresses itself yet more 
 definitely in the inner and spiritual 
 rhythm, by which they are contra- 
 distinguished from each other. The 
 Inferno, as it is the most fearful in its 
 objects, is likewise the strongest in ex- 
 pression, the severest in diction, and in 
 its very words dark and awful. In one 
 portion of the Purgatorio deep silence 
 reigns, for the lamentations of the 
 lower world grow mute ; upon its 
 summits, the forecourts of Heaven, all 
 becomes Color : the Paradiso is the 
 true music of the spheres. 
 
 The variety and difference of the 
 punishments in the Inferno are con- 
 ceived with almost unexampled in- 
 vention. Between the crime and the 
 punishment there is never any other 
 than a poetic relation. Dante's spirit 
 
 is not daunted by what is terrible ; 
 nay, he goes to its extreme limits. But 
 it could be shown, in every case, that 
 he never ceases to be sublime, and in 
 consequence truly beautiful. For that 
 which men who are not capable of 
 comprehending the whole have some- 
 times pointed out as low, is not so in 
 their sense of the term, but it is a ne- 
 cessary element of the mixed nature of 
 the poem, on account of which Dante 
 himself called it a Comedy. The 
 hatred of evil, the scorn of a godlike 
 spirit, which are expressed in Dante's 
 fearful composition, are not the in- 
 heritance of common souls. It is in- 
 deed very doubtful still, though quite 
 generally believed, whether his banish- 
 ment from Florence, after he had pre- 
 viously dedicated his poetry to Love, 
 first spurred on his spirit, naturally in- 
 clined to whatever was earnest and 
 extraordinary, to the highest invention, 
 in which he breathed forth the whole 
 of his life, of the destiny of his heart 
 and his country, together with his in- 
 dignation thereat. But the vengeance 
 which he takes in the Inferno, he takes 
 in the name of the Day of Judgment, 
 as the elected Judge with prophetic 
 power, not from personal hate, but 
 with a pious soul roused by the abomi- 
 nations of the times, and a love of his 
 native land long dead in others, as he 
 has himself represented in a passage in 
 the Paradiso, where he says : — 
 
 "If e'er it happen that the Poem sacred, 
 To which both Earth and Heaven have lent 
 
 their hand, 
 Till it hath made me meagre many a year, 
 
The Divina Commedia 
 
 409 
 
 Conquer the cruelty that shuts me out 
 Of the fair sheepfold, where a lamb I slumbered, 
 An enemy to the wolves that war upon it, 
 
 With other voice forthwith, with other fleece, 
 The poet shall return, and at the font 
 Baptismal shall he take the crown of laurel." 
 
 He tempers the horror of the tor- 
 ments of the damned by his own feel- 
 ing for them, which at the end of so 
 much suffering so overwhelms him that 
 he is ready to weep, and Virgil says 
 to him, " Wherefore then art thou 
 troubled ? " 
 
 It has already been remarked, that 
 the greater part of the punishments of 
 the Inferno are symbolical of the 
 crimes for which they are inflicted, 
 but many of them are so in a far more 
 general relation. Of this kind is, in 
 particular, the representation of a meta- 
 morphosis, in which two natures are 
 mutually interchanged, and their sub- 
 stance transmuted. No metamorpho- 
 sis of Antiquity can compare with this 
 for invention, and if a naturalist or a 
 didactic poet were able to sketch with 
 such power emblems of the eternal 
 metamorphoses of nature, he might 
 congratulate himself upon it. 
 
 As we have already remarked, the 
 Inferno is not only distinguished from 
 the other parts by the external form 
 of its representation, but also by the 
 circumstance that it is peculiarly the 
 realm of forms, and consequently the 
 plastic part of the poem. The Purga- 
 torio must be recognized as the pic- 
 turesque part. Not only are the pen- 
 ances here imposed upon sinners at 
 times pictorially treated, even to bright- 
 
 VOL. II. 52 
 
 ness of coloring, but the journey up 
 the holy mountain of Purgatory pre- 
 sents in detail a rapid succession of 
 shifting landscapes, scenes, and mani- 
 fold play of light; until upon its outer- 
 most boundary, when the poet has 
 reached the waters of Lethe, the high- 
 est pomp of painting and color displays 
 itself, in the picturing of the divine 
 primeval forest of this region, of the 
 celestial clearness of the water overcast 
 with its eternal shadow, of the maiden 
 whom he meets upon its banks, and 
 the descent of Beatrice in a cloud of 
 flowers, beneath a white veil, crowned 
 with olive, wrapped in a green mantle, 
 and " vested in colors of the living 
 flame." 
 
 The poet has urged his way to light 
 through the very heart of the earth : 
 in the darkness of the lower world 
 forms alone could be distinguished : in 
 Purgatory light is kindled, but still in 
 connection with earthly matter, and 
 becomes color. In Paradise there re- 
 mains nothing but the pure music of 
 the light ; reflection ceases, and the 
 Poet rises gradually to behold the color- 
 less pure essence of Deity itself. 
 
 The astronomical system which the 
 age of the poet invested with a mytho- 
 logical value, the nature of the stars 
 and of the measure of their motion, 
 are the ground upon which his inven- 
 tions, in this part of the poem, rest. 
 And if he in this sphere of the uncon- 
 ditioned still suffers degrees and differ- 
 ences to exist, he again removes them 
 by the glorious word which he puts 
 into the mouth of one of the sister- 
 
410 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 souls whom he meets in the moon, that 
 " every Where in heaven is Paradise." 
 
 The plan of the poem renders it 
 natural that, on the very ascent through 
 Paradise, the loftiest speculations of 
 theology should be discussed. His 
 deep reverence for this science is sym- 
 bolized by his -love of Beatrice. In 
 proportion as the field of vision en- 
 larges itself into the purely Universal, 
 it is necessary that Poetry should be- 
 come Music, form vanish, and that, in 
 this point of view, the Inferno should 
 appear the most poetic part of the 
 work. But in this work it is abso- 
 lutely impossible to take things sepa- 
 rately ; and the peculiar excellence of 
 each separate part is authenticated and 
 recognized only through its harmony 
 with the whole. If the relation of the 
 three parts to the whole is perceived, 
 we shall necessarily recognize the Para- 
 diso as the purely musical and lyrical 
 portion, even in the design of the poet, 
 who expresses this in the external form 
 by the frequent use of the Latin words 
 of Church hymns. 
 
 The marvellous grandeur of the 
 poem, which gleams forth in the min- 
 
 gling of all the elements of poetry and 
 art, reaches in this way a perfect mani- 
 festation. This divine work is not 
 plastic, not picturesque, not musical, 
 but all of these at once and in accord- 
 ant harmony. It is not dramatic, not 
 epic, not lyric, but a peculiar, unique, 
 and unexampled mingling of all these. 
 
 I think I have shown, at the same 
 time, that it is prophetic, and typical 
 of all the modern Poetry. It embraces 
 all its characteristics, and springs out 
 of the intricately mingled materials of 
 the same, as the first growth, stretch- 
 ing itself above the earth and toward 
 the heavens, — the first fruit of trans- 
 figuration. Those who would become 
 acquainted with the poetry of modern 
 times, not superficially, but at its foun- 
 tain-head, may train themselves by this 
 great and mighty spirit, in order to 
 know by what means the whole of the 
 modern time may be embraced in its 
 entireness, and that it is not held to- 
 gether by a loosely woven band. They 
 who have no vocation for this can apply 
 to themselves the words at the begin- 
 ning of the first part, — 
 
 " Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' intrate." 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
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